Sophie 9.
Bitches be triflin’. Me. I’m bitches.
Desi grins obnoxiously big and Elian shakes his head every once in a while. Could be because while I can maintain my composure in the face of undeniable sexual attraction, Dario is behaving like a lion with a thorn in his paw…or an unsatisfied dick.
Oleg keeps encouraging him to take up random activities to burn off his “extra energy”, but each one is more ludicrous than the last and I’m having too much fun. Extreme ironing. Aerial arts. Spoon carving. Live Action Role Playing. Basketweaving. Witchcraft. Snail grooming.
Dario feeds right into it, growling and snapping at Oleg every time, making the rest of us laugh until he stomps out of the room.
I shouldn’t tease him; I rejected him and probably pissed him off.
But he isn’t mean to me. My denial seems to have intrigued him.
I can imagine as leader of a crime syndicate he isn’t used to people telling him no, let alone women.
What woman in her right mind would turn down the chance to get up close and personal with his Burmese python?
Me, remember. I’m bitches. And I be triflin’ like no one ever trifled before.
The other night, finding him waiting at the bottom of the steps for me was something out of a romance movie.
He escorted me like a gentleman, assisted me to my seat and my body shivered when he ran his nose up my neck with a slight manly grunt.
It took me a moment to understand what was going on but once I realized he’d sent our normal dinner companions elsewhere so we could be alone, I was all in.
Picturing the scandalous ways our evening might end.
He has been all I could think about since I stepped out of the lake and into his clothing.
Aside from being much more pleasant to consider than my recent abduction and captivity, he is one of the most enigmatic people I’ve ever met.
I felt myself gravitating toward him despite knowing I shouldn’t.
I wanted him, I still do. That isn’t the problem.
The problem is I’m not the only one who wants him, but I might be the only non-relative female in the compound that hasn’t had him.
The servers who delivered our dinner were staking their claim on el jefe.
Aside from the obvious jealousy that tipped their hand and dumped half my dinner in my lap, what bothered me is that he didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
I’m not unfamiliar with catty women, again, we be triflin’.
It was the natural way the other server caressed him, how it didn’t even register in his mind because it’s a regular occurrence.
I briefly wondered how many of them he’d bent over the dinner table and fucked as dessert.
In that moment, I remembered exactly why I went after someone like Clark Smith.
None of the men in my family would ever cheat, but they weren’t innocent before they found their significant others.
And a few of them have had intimate relations with their employees.
I know we aren’t like most mafia families, always the red-headed stepchild of the mafia world.
Mistresses and cheating are commonplace in the world of organized crime.
Men who hold the tiniest bit of power and believe themselves invincible and their actions above reproach.
The Kosher Nostra does not subscribe to that way of thought.
The servers were just two more in a long line of women in this compound that cater and hang on Dario because he allows them. He has every right to live his life as he sees fit and so do I. I am insanely attracted to him and I’m racking up material for my clit-cache, but that’s where it must end.
I’m staying here for my protection, but the real danger is what Dario inspires inside me.