Chapter 10 Naomi
It takes me a very long time to even be able to move on the bed once Valentino leaves my bedroom in a rush as we heard the front door closing downstairs.
Damn my father. I always knew he’d be a terrible complication in my adult life, but cockblocking me? That’s a low I did not foresee.
My thighs are still trembling with the aftershocks of the roaring orgasm Valentino ripped from me with his lips and tongue. Goodness gracious, is that what it’s supposed to feel like? It always makes me squeamish to imagine someone going down there with their mouth. I mean, it’s wet, and I could never imagine how it could be pleasant to engage with. Guess I’ll never be interested in girls, I giggle to myself.
Even putting on the crotchless teddy made me self-conscious. I don’t like being exposed, and thinking of Valentino having sent me the lingerie already made me wet when I slipped it on. Not really delectable. But he asked it of me, and I so wanted to please him.
So, I bore the discomfort. And thank goodness I did, because this was my reward.
Seeing him watching me gave me such a heady rush. Like power going right to my head to make me dizzy. I didn’t recognize the woman who disrobed fully in his sight, almost making eye contact with him. It always looked like an afterthought when I tried to get his attention before. Like it’s dumb luck I just happen to be wearing skimpy clothing and passing in front of my window.
Today, he was looking at me, and this did something to my courage. He wanted me to be there for him. To put on a show.
And that’s exactly what I did. Who knew I could move in such a lascivious way? Being so wanton across the window from him made me want him something fierce, so when I heard the car starting, I knew my dad was going out. Alone in the house, I could ask Valentino over.
Now look where that’s gotten us. I had two roaring orgasms in such a short time, yet my core still pulsates with need.
Because Valentino—Val—hasn’t filled it with his cock yet.
I gasp and moan softly, stifling the sound in a pillow when the keening refuses to abate. He’ll be the death of me. Who knew a man could do so much to a woman with so little and in such a short time? My one time with a guy hasn’t prepared me for this.
Nothing could have prepared me for this.
For Valentino.
I have no choice but to let my fingers reach down, parting my folds to find my still-sensitive clit begging for release. I wish it can be him, but it won’t happen today. Valentino promised this isn’t over; there’ll be a next time.
Remembering his mouth on me makes the fact that I’m touching and stroking myself feel so sexy and forbidden.
I come again thinking of Valentino doing wicked things to me.
Val. He didn’t correct me when I used the nickname. I smile thinking of this. It’s progress. We’re getting somewhere.
I fall asleep like this, exhausted, and awaken the next morning with pain radiating along my body from my chest to my hips. Damn lingerie. They’re not made to sleep in, for sure. It’s torture getting up, and it’s even worse trying to get out of the ridiculous contraption. A good idea would be to tear it, but it’s a gift from Valentino.
He should be the one to tear it from me.
Ha, good one! As if I’m ever getting into such a torture device again. Even for him.
Okay, maybe for him, I’ll do it. If he asks nicely.
Though I don’t want Valentino to be doing anything nice to me. Dirty, filthy, naughty, wicked, wanton—yes to all of these.
As the water from the shower hits me, I hiss. The hot liquid is making my sore clit burn. The touch of it ignites a throbbing deep inside again, and I curse as I find there’s no other solution but to use my fingers again to stave off this need.
Damn Valentino! What has he done to me?
This thought triggers memories of last night, and now, my breasts are heavy and the nipples almost thrumming with need, too.
I rub my clit even more furiously, my other hand coming up to pinch a nipple in order to stave off the hurt.
Spent, I stay under the spray of water for a good few minutes just letting it wash off the sweat I just conjured all over my body.
I have to force myself into my bedroom, focusing on toweling off and then choosing a pair of tailored pants and a cashmere sweater. My nipples are still sensitive, and I go looking for the most padded bra I own to help with this.
I do my hair and light makeup almost on autopilot, then head downstairs for breakfast.
There are sounds coming from the dining room, and I pause on the landing. Are we expecting visitors today?
With cautious steps, I make my way to the conservatory to the side of the house where the voices are coming from.
“Naomi, darling,” my father calls as I step into the open arch of the dining room that leads to the glassed-in conservatory.
“Good morning, Dad.”
There’s someone with him. Blond haired, the man appears tall and lean. When he turns to look at me, there’s something familiar about his face, though it looks utterly generic in an All-American kind of way, I have to say.
“Sweetheart,” Dad reaches out for me with an outstretched hand.
I move to his side and clasp his hand.
“Naomi, this is Thad Billings. He will be my aide de camp during the campaign, and as such, will be working closely with you.”
I take a seat at the table more because my knees have gone weak than because it’s the polite thing to do.
He’s one of the robots from the ball. Even today, he doesn’t smile, just nods at everything my father says. I frown. From his title, I assume he’ll be the one liaising with the press and the communication teams on the trail. It looks like he barely has any operating intelligence, let alone AI.
Unless…all of this will fall onto me.
A sigh escapes. I camouflage it behind a sip of the coffee I have quickly poured myself.
My dad drones on about what comes next, Thad nodding along—he even looks like a bobblehead with all the nodding.
Some of his words hit me sharply. What does he mean by ‘working closely with him’? Did I detect an emphasis on ‘closely’?
Wait, is my dad expecting me to end up with Thad? I had a bit of the marriage mart feeling, rampant in the historical novels I devour whenever I can, during the many introductions he made that evening at the ball.
A groan escapes. Of course this is what he wants, what it’s all leading to. All my life, I’ve been groomed to be at the side of Joel Smith. Any politician worth his salt needs a feminine presence to accompany him, and with my mother gone, I fill in the gap by default.
It won’t look good for me in this position to remain a confirmed spinster forever, so I’ll have to get married at some point. Will this be to a lackey of my father’s, so we’ll still both be in his entourage without any conflict?
This appears to be the path he’s set out for me. And before coming back home, I was okay with it. I had grown up with my father alluding to an arranged marriage ever since I could remember. The only time I balked at the idea was when I fell hard for Valentino but he dashed my hopes pretty quickly, so I fell back to my old way of coasting through my college years not caring about boys one way or the other. Marrying a guy my father chooses didn’t seem like a big deal. The men he’s paraded in front of me seemed interchangeable to me. Even thinking of the marital bed didn’t stir me. I knew I could bear it—lie back and think of the Smith name rising in politics, over and done with once a month during ovulation, until a child came and then we wouldn’t have to maintain any pretense.
I was okay with this a month ago. Heck, even yesterday morning.
I was okay with this until Valentino Andretti placed his mouth on my pussy and made me come with the skillful mastery of his tongue and lips.
A rush of heat flames through me, and I gulp some coffee to give myself countenance.
Across the table, Thad is watching me without expression.
It doesn’t even feel creepy, to be honest. It feels like…someone seeing right through me. Like there’s nothing behind those eyes, behind those bland features.
Milquetoast. That’s the word that comes to mind.
The complete opposite of Valentino.
Just the thought of him makes me sigh, and when my dad places his hand on mine, I jump.
“Are you okay, darling?”
“Fine,” I croak.
“You’re look a bit overheated. Actually, you do look a bit peaky.”
I choke on a sip of coffee and cough. Is it that obvious, that the mere thought of him lights up a fire in me? What has that man done to me?
“As much as I hate to concede this, it might be a good idea for you to stay home this weekend,” he adds.
I frown. Where am I supposed to be if not home this weekend?
I almost face-palm myself when I realize it’s the weekend when he’s heading to DC to meet with some party cronies. It’s the official kickoff to his campaign to get elected to Mayor.
That will be the first step in his political career. He’s waited a long time to make his first move, and I know it’s because of me. He wanted to see me through my schooling and settled as a grown woman before he turned the majority of his focus on his dream and lifelong goal—a post in this country’s government.
I love him for it. But at the same time, I resent him somewhat. Without my mother in the picture, I’m the only woman in his entourage. So instead of being just his daughter, I’m roped in to be everything he needs a woman to be for him in the public eye. I’m his social wife.
It’s not a role I chose. I know many daddy’s girls who have gladly taken on this mantle, but I’m not one of them.
However, after all he has sacrificed for me, I cannot bail on him.
Once he’s elected, however, we’ll have this discussion.
Until then, I won’t jeopardize his dream.
“I’ll go pack my bags,” I say, standing up.
“No, my love. You don’t look well. I refuse to drag you along with us to all those boring parties and dinners. Stay home and recover, okay?”
I nod, glad to have escaped the rigmarole that’ll be DC. I need to prep myself days in advance to meet the barracudas that swim in those predator-infested waters.
Dad and Thad—I snort because it’s a funny rhyme—leave shortly after. I am left blissfully alone in this big house.
And on the other side of the fence is Valentino.
Imagine what we could get up to, me and him, without the threat of my father around for two whole nights and days.
I’m already thinking of how to convey a message asking him to come over. I can’t just go to his front door and knock—there is, after all, an image to uphold for my father’s campaign. To be seen interacting with the neighbor out and about passes muster, but to show any motive behind it? That’s playing with fire.
And there’s just one kind of fire I want to play with.
If I’m diligent, I can catch Carlito on his smoke break outside behind the kitchen out back after lunch. I caught him after breakfast yesterday, when I slipped him the box of mistletoe.
Still an hour or so to kill. I should think about what to say. What should we do? Dinner? Netflix and chill?
I’m giggling at this very thought when the doorbell rings. Nonchalant, I walk to the front door and open it.
It seems to be the same pimply-faced young man who delivered the lingerie box the other day.
I frown. Valentino’s at it again?
My heart starts thumping a wild dance. What’s he planned this time?
I whip the box out of the hands of the bewildered boy and slam the door—I hope it didn’t hit his face.
There’s no camouflage to this box. It’s wide and flat, a silky white. I’m pretty sure what it contains, but I can’t wait. I plop it down in the entry hall and peel off the cover. Met with layers of delicate tissue paper, I pause at finding a card in the folds. Heavy stock, white, like the previous notes.
I don’t read it yet, wanting to see what’s inside the box first. My mouth hangs open when I finally land on the contents.
It’s a short chiffon dress, same deep purple as the teddy, with a V-neck at the front and back. It’s as demure as it’s sexy.
I turn the card over.
Put this on, cross the back gate, meet me for dinner tonight, gattina x
A wave of excitement runs through me, the tingles settling in my core. Instantly, I crash. Because my clit is now throbbing as if it hasn’t seen an orgasm in weeks, let alone a mere few hours, and there’s still half a day to go before I can be with Valentino. Before I can get his hands on me, his tongue on my clit, and hopefully, his cock in my pussy.
An afternoon has never looked so dire and long.