44. Chapter Forty-Four

I walk back to my room with my tail between my legs.

I went into his office with a plan. A plan I was determined to go through with because I decided to circle back to using my body.

Yeah, that's totally why.

It had nothing to do with me thinking about his dick since I massaged his body. Okay, I was thinking about him well before that, but it has nothing to do with that. I would never ignore morals for sex. At least, that's what I'm going to keep telling myself, because I'm pretty sure that's a bald-faced lie.

But now, I'm sulking.

I went into Enzo's office to suck his dick and walked out with a reality check instead.

Who was I when he took me? I was me. I am me. Jordan Delise. Daughter of Matteo Delise. What else is there to know?

And why in the hell does he care? I was there on my knees for him. Offering my mouth for him to use. He had his dick on my tongue, in the back of my throat, and he just stopped? Who does that?

Who the hell does that?

My husband, ladies and gentlemen, that's who.

So now, not only am I sexually frustrated, I'm mentally frustrated too because I don't know what the hell he means by figuring out who I am. Or who I was. Or whatever it was he said, because now I'm not sure about that either.

I plop down on my bed and pick up my cell phone. I'm not letting this go.

I send Enzo a text.

Me: Most men would have accepted the blow job.

Vincenzo: Most men are simple-minded.

Me: And you're not?

Vincenzo: Do you think I am?

I know he isn't. He never has been. He's always been interesting. Always caught my eye. I remember all the times he was at the house. The way he'd talk with my father, and they'd share stories. He'd tell them so well. Vincenzo is charismatic. He's funny. He's smart. He's so many things I've refused to think about because that was before he took me, and how could that man be the same one forcing me to stay here?

The same way the man who raised you and gave you everything you ever wanted is the same who sold you off like a prized pig.

Everyone has their secrets, I guess. Maybe I'm the fool for being honest and true to who I am and expecting others to do the same.

Me: Honestly?

Vincenzo: I always want you to be honest.

Me: No. I don't think you're simple-minded. In fact, I know you aren't.

Vincenzo: Good.

Vincenzo: Are you still thinking about my cock?

I groan when I read his text. Did he send me to my room to torture me? Does he want me to suffer? He can't possibly know how badly I want him. I've done nothing but show him the opposite. Except for tonight, that is.

But still, if there's a chance… I want to take it.

Me: Yes.

Vincenzo: Are you wet?

Me: Yes.

Vincenzo: Show me.

My cheeks burn. He wants me to send him a picture of my—

He can't be serious. But Enzo doesn't joke.

How do I do this? I've never taken a picture of that before.

Vincenzo: I'm waiting.

Shit. I maneuver myself on the bed, move my panties aside, and snap a photo. When I look at it, it's blurry and you can't tell what it is. I move and try again. Still crappy. Damnit. Why is this so hard? It's so easy for guys to send dick pics. It's right there, sticking up for all to see. They don't have to get between their legs and worry about lighting and shadows and lips and—oh my god, is that a hair?

I can't send him pictures of this. It's awful. Gross. He'll never want to touch my vagina again.

Which I guess is a bad thing, since now I want him to.

The sudden realization doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would.

Whatever.

Vincenzo: You have exactly one minute left to send me a photo.

I stare at the text, and not one part of me wants to send it now. Because there is an inferred or else after and I really want to know what the or else is. So instead of attempting another photo, I lay back and stare at the time on my phone.

My door bursts open, and in walks Vincenzo. I force my smile away, not wanting him to know he fell into my trap this time.

My thighs clench together.

He moves to the side of my bed and looks down at me, chuckling.

"Angel, did you think I was coming in here to fuck you?" He tsks, leans down, and runs his hand over my hair. "I came in here to tell you you're being punished for not listening—for not following the rules."

"Punished?" I question. My heart picks up speed, the ache between my legs growing. "But I thought…"

"Hm, you thought wrong." He stands up. "You won't be rewarded for this sort of behavior."

I swallow hard. "Punished how?" I ask, glancing at my phone.

He chuckles again.

"Orgasm denial," he says slowly.

What the hell does that mean?

The bulge in his pants is thick, and my mouth waters thinking about it.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I so desperate?

"Meaning you will not come until I say you can." He won't know what the hell I'm doing when he isn't around. "And I know what you're thinking. You'll do it yourself when I'm not around, right? When you're in your room or the shower or when I'm not here? That's what you're thinking, isn't it? Well, angel, you won't do that either. Want to know why?"

"Why?" I ask, even though I did not give myself permission to say that! But he's talking to me in the same tone he talked to me in the club. It's like witchcraft. I do whatever he says when he talks to me like that, and I don't like it.

Okay, maybe I like it a little.

All right! A lot. I like it a lot. I like it so much.

"Because you want to please me. You want to give me pleasure. You want your husband to be happy. You, my angel, want your husband to want to fuck you. And doing as I say will make me want to fuck you more than you can imagine. It will make me think of you constantly. Your tight, wet little aching pussy will be on my mind from the moment I wake up to the moment I go asleep, knowing it's waiting for me to give it what it wants."

I'm panting when he's done speaking. My whole body on fire. He leans down, kisses my head, and leaves the room.

And holy shit, I think he's right.