“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, old man.”
Just like I have all day, I ignore my phone sitting face down on the bedside table as I set myself up with my laptop on my thighs and the stack of paper and textbooks Stella and Calli brought for me.
The need to know if he’s replied burns through me. But it's a temptation I don’t need.
I know just how easy it would be to lose myself in a conversation with him and not get any of this done.
Stuffing down my need to close everything up and distract myself with deviant thoughts about a certain mafia prince who just so happens to be my husband, I focus on the task at hand. I figure the faster I can get this done, the sooner I can move on to the art project my teacher has set and allow myself to drift off into fantasy land.
A fantasy land where I’ll be dreaming about all the things I could do to his body—or rather, all the things he could do to mine.
“For fuck’s sake, Emmie,” I mutter to myself as my head goes straight into the gutter.
With a sigh, I find the right page in the textbook and get to work, my eyes flicking to my phone every few minutes.
* * *
By some fucking miracle, I make it just over four hours before I can’t ignore my phone anymore.
I’ve got messages from Seb, Stella, Calli, Cruz, Xander, and even Dad—probably testing to see if I’m actually working or just playing on my phone. But I ignore all of them and open his.
To my surprise, there’s only one. But it’s enough to get my blood pumping.
His Lordship: Did you dream of me?
Heat surges through me, knowing that I don’t need to be asleep to be dreaming about him.
As if he’s been waiting for me to read it, the dots start bouncing.
His Lordship: Did you have a good day? Seb’s just left. He’s drunk, Stella’s in for a good night.
I can’t help but laugh at his aubergine and peach emoji. It’s so unlike him, or the him he allows everyone else to see. Somehow I’ve been granted permission to the other side of him. He’s not just a brutal killer, a force to be reckoned with, but he’s sweet, funny, caring, in his own unique way.
Emmie: Spent most of the day watching shitty car renovation shows with Dad and Cruz. Not exactly my idea of fun, although, I must admit, a couple of the mechanics were easy watching.
His Lordship: Funny, I thought you preferred a guy in a sharp suit with a filthy mouth to dirty clothes and greasy fingers.
A smile twitches at my lips.
Emmie: I guess it all depends on my mood. I wasn’t really in the mood for prim and proper, more dark and dirty.
My cheeks burn, knowing that I shouldn’t be flirting with him, taunting him. But I figure I’ve been unable to hold myself back all this time. He’d probably find it weird if I were any other way.
His Lordship: I think you’re more than aware that an expensive suit doesn’t always mean boring and gentle.
“Fuuuck,” I groan, my thighs rubbing together as some of the time we’ve spent together flickers through my mind.
Emmie: Is Seb the only one who’s drunk?
His Lordship: Maybe, maybe not…
His teasing makes me think it’s probably the latter.
Emmie: Careful, Master Cirillo. Dropping your inhibitions might lead you to all sorts of trouble.
His Lordship: What if I’m ready to throw them all out of the window?
My heart continues to race as everything south of my waist clenches in desire.
Emmie: Just how far are you willing to throw them? Give me something to work with.