Page 87 of Dirty Mafia King

Because I know, deep within my soul, this isn’t the last time I’ll visit this room. Bastian invited me into his life last night, and that’s changed everything.

CHAPTER31

ALESSIA

“I’ve never seen so many small dicks in one place,” Zoey exclaims.

The massage therapist, Tyrone—a really handsome man who’s instinctively addressed all my trigger points—stops kneading my shoulders.

It takes a few seconds of awkward silence for my friend to realize she’s insulted both men.

“No. Not you guys. I’m here to relax, not check out your dicks, though I’m sure Samuel here has nothing to be ashamed of given the size of his hands. I’m referring to the tiny dicks the Renaissance artists liked to paint.”

Her massage therapist, Samuel-with-the-Mighty-Hands, chuckles. “Not sure if there was a compliment in there or not.”

I’d roll my eyes except a cucumber-infused eye mask covers my lids. “This morning, we had a private tour of the Renaissance exhibit at the Providence Art Museum. People copulated to reproduce, not for pleasure—and that is how society preferred sex to be represented in art. Small appendages were the ideal.”

“God bless the twenty-first century,” Zoey exclaims. “I’d give you a dick worth staring at if I were an artist. The bigger the better.”

The men laugh, along with me, which only encourages her.

“Dick art. It’ll be all the rage.”

Fate placed Zoey in my life, didn’t it? Though opposites, we’ve quickly become best friends. How would I have navigated my new life without her wit and love of life?

The truth about me—and myinterests—would shock even the unshakable Zoey. I’ve kept her clueless about the exchanges between Bastian and me. It’d blow her mind if she knew, in vivid detail, the way my father-in-law fingered me and marked me, and how hungry I am for more.

Bastian gets me—the art enthusiast, the sensualist, the curious kinkster.

It’s a strange predicament because a predator like him is definitely not someone you open up to, and easy prey like me never reveals her desires, twisted and otherwise, to anyone.

Yet here I am, my mind still stimulated by the private museum tour, and my body energized by Tyrone-with-the-Magic-Touch’s expert hands.

Zoey grunts and groans on the table next to mine as Samuel resumes work.

I’m tempted to ask her about Bastian’s sex dungeon. If she knows it exists? If she’s heard who he invites inside to play with? Yet I keep quiet, worried my interest in the room—and in Bastian—might shine through.

Several minutes pass. Then a frantic knock on the door interrupts the silence.

“For the love of God,” a panicked woman exclaims from a few feet away. “Stop touching her.”

My massage abruptly ends.

“What’s happening?” Zoey exclaims.

“We apologize for the mix-up, Miss Amato,” the woman continues, ignoring Zoey’s question. “Kim and Kathy will be your therapists for the remainder of your treatment.”

“No. We’d like Samuel and Tyrone to stay. Isn’t that right, Alessia?”

“Yes.” I remove the cucumber mask and, securing the thin sheet around my breasts, roll to sit.

Zoey’s done the same, minus the sheet.

The woman’s midtwenties and wearing the same signature Mandarin Hotel uniform Samuel and Tyrone have on. They seem as confused as we are, but the woman is dead serious. “Tyrone has another appointment.” She waves them toward the door. “Enjoy the spa free, compliments of the Mandarin Hotel, while you wait.”

“Samuel, wait,” Zoey calls. “Come back. We’ll pay extra…”

The woman pretends not to hear her and focuses on me. “Enjoy the rest of your stay, Miss Amato.” She spins and follows the men from the massage room, the door closing behind her.