The two days leading up to the charity gala were pure torment. My body was a live wire, constantly humming with forbidden need. Every time I closed my eyes, Mr. Rossi’s text burned behind my lids: Beautiful t**s and an even prettier p***y. Good girl. Those words had me waking up in the middle of the night with my fingers buried deep inside my soaked cunt, humping my pillow like a desperate slut while moaning his name instead of his son’s. My addiction had shifted, twisted into something darker, more dangerous. Nicolos was safe, familiar. His father was power incarnate—older, commanding, completely off-limits. And that only made me wetter.
I spent hours preparing, turning my small apartment into a battlefield of lace and lust. I stood naked in front of the full-length mirror, my skin still
