Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
I stop and rub again. “Tell me what else. What do you fantasize about, Sophie?”
“Getting spanked in your office by Sammy with you watching.”
I draw in my breath sharply, jealousy at the mention of Sammy momentarily blinding me. But of course, it’s just from the story I told her. I slowly release my breath as I give her five full-force slaps. “I might bend you over my desk, but if Sammy ever touches you, he’s a dead man,” I growl.
Sophie
Oops.
I clearly offended Joey because he starts spanking me much harder.
“Ouch!” I reach back and try to cover my ass, laughing. “I’m sorry!”
He catches my hand and bends it behind my back and deals several more slaps. “I told you I don’t share, baby girl.”
I’m dripping wet and squirming, the pain level warring with pleasure. As the pain level nudges up, I start to think I was absolutely nuts to suggest maintenance. “Okay!” I gasp. “I’m sorry, Joey!”
He stops and rubs my ass then pulls me up to stand between his legs again. I flush, feeling vulnerable. Embarrassed. Turned on.
Joey wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for a hug. I straddle his lap, looping my arms around his neck.
“Are you okay, baby?” he whispers in my ear, holding me against his chest.
I nod against his neck. “Yeah,” I say softly.
“Was that too hard?”
“No. Almost, but no.”
“Was that maintenance?”
“Yeah, minus you getting mad at the end.”
He chuckles into my hair. “I wasn’t mad.”
“Yes, you were.”
“Believe me, baby, when I’m mad, I’m a total cocksucker, and you won’t want to be anywhere near me.”
I pull away to look at him. He’s so kind to me, so gentlemanly, I sometimes forget just how dangerous he must be.
As if he guesses my thoughts, he brushed his lips over mine and said, “Don’t worry. I would never touch you if I were mad. Never. Ever. You’re precious to me.”
The timer on the oven buzzes, and I jump off his lap and pull on pants and panties. “Ready for dinner?”
“Yes, please.” His appreciative rumble makes me feel warm. Held. Like I’m in the right place with the right person. Like I’m right where I belong.
He feels like home.
And that’s a feeling I haven’t had in a very long time.
Certainly not since my dad died.
I made manicotti the way my Nana taught me, as well as lightly sautéed vegetables. Joey opens the bottle of wine without being asked. There was something so decidedly right about having a man like him in the house. Like he knows his role and doesn’t need to be told how to fill it. But it’s the same thing that makes me on edge with him. He’s too cocky, too sure of himself. He never takes no for an answer, and he has the worst possible job. And really, that’s the sticking point. Because even if I ever do get used to his bullish ways, I would never, ever be able to live with a mobster. Not again.
After dinner, Joey helps me with the dishes, and my phone rings.
My mother. Crap. If I don’t answer, the woman will keep calling every thirty minutes.
“Hi there.” I answer the call.
“Hi, honey, how’s it going?”
“It’s going well, and you?”
“Where do these go?” Joey murmurs behind me, holding up the salad plates.
“Up there,” I mouth, pointing to a cupboard.
“Who’s that?” my mother demands.
“Oh, no one.”
“I heard a male voice. Do you have a man over there? Are you dating someone?”
“No, no. Nobody. He’s just a friend. Listen, I gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“All right. Call me early because I have my reading club.”
“Okay, I will. Love you, bye.”
I hang up and set the phone down. The hurt look on Joey’s face makes my stomach drop. I wasn’t thinking of how my words might sound to him as I got rid of my mother. Nobody. He’s just a friend. Does he think it was another man?
He picks up my cell phone.
“It wasn’t a guy!” I say quickly, trying to grab it back.
He steps back out of my reach, turning it on and scrolling to the call log. When he sees who it was, he turns it off and tosses it back on the counter. Instead of looking relieved the call was from my mother, he looks even grimmer.
“Look, I just didn’t want to get into it with my mom tonight, that’s all.”
He nods, his expression blank. “I’m not the kind of boy you bring home to mother.”
“Right,” I agree, realizing too late he was expecting me to deny it. He puts the cork back in the wine bottle, looking resolved to something. Did I hurt his feelings? Truly? My tough guy? Is this somehow about my mother? Does the Family still hate my mother?
“Thanks for dinner.” He leans over to give me a cool peck on the lips.