Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Her body shudders as my cock pulses inside of her and I pitch forward as she moves her legs down. I stay right there, on top of her with my cock still buried in her tight, wet cunt, as we catch our breath.
Gently, she runs her fingers through my hair and I pick my head up just enough to look into her pretty green eyes. Sex with Mira is fucking amazing, and I know the more we get to know each other and figure things out together, it’ll only get better in time.
“Well, I’m going to have to touch up my makeup and change my dress.” She rakes her nails up and down my back. “Not that I’m complaining. We’ve very good in this aspect.”
“Right? If all else fails, at last we’re good in bed.”
“That is a requirement for me.”
“Oh, is it now?”
“Mh-hm.” She cups my face, turning it up so she can kiss me. We are good together. In and out of bed. I’ve never felt so certain of anything in my life, making me know without a doubt Mira is the one for me…but am I the one for her?
Chapter
Thirty-One
MIRA
“Well, look at you.” Enzo is waiting for me right outside the restaurant. I twirl, black dress spinning around my thighs. I’m floating, feeling so happy right now. Things feel right and like this is how life is supposed to be.
With Mason.
We go inside and get seated right away. We’re at an Italian restaurant and the waitstaff seem to know Enzo. The host seems a little scared and the cook in the back comes out just to give him a handshake. I make a mental note, reminding myself to call him Matt.
“How was New Jersey?” I ask, putting my hand over the top of my wine glass, letting the sommelier know I don’t want any. I really wish they’d ask, as more and more people are avoiding alcohol altogether these days.
“It was…intense.”
“Oh, really? Do you want to talk about it?” I laugh. “Sorry, I was in back to back sessions today. It’s a good thing there aren’t paper and crayons on the table or I might have asked you to draw your feelings.”
Enzo laughs and reaches for my hand. “I like that you care about my feelings.”
“Of course.” I link my fingers through his, doing my best not to gag. Yeah, his family has money, but he’s just gross. And I don’t mean physically, but energetically. How the hell do women fulfill sugar baby duties? “I might have a pen in my purse instead of crayons.”
He fakes a laugh and moves his hand back so he can run his thumb over the inside of my wrist. He’s touching my scar from when I had surgery to repair the broken bone, and it hurts a little even after all these years.
“I’d rather express my emotions another way.” He leans in, eyes wide. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Mya.”
I suck in a breath. “Really?”
“Yes, really. You were on my mind and now I want to be on you.”
Mason laughs, voice in my ear. “Like that line is going to work.”
As much as I want to laugh with him, I ignore his voice and keep talking to Enzo, trying to gently probe what happened in Jersey. He gives me a few clues and forgets his own made up story, complaining about a sister who I think is actually Bianca, his cousin. Mason said she was a person of high interest, leaving me to believe that she was higher up in rank.
Even though he’s lying, I can tell that this man could benefit from so much therapy. My mind drifts a little, wondering what it was like growing up the way he did. No wonder they’re all so fucked up. It’s some sort of messed up cycle of violence and blood money.
I carry the conversation and this reminds me yet again why I only go on one date with suspected cheaters. There’s no point in trying to get to know someone when it’s all fake. Everything is superficial and while I thought Enzo’s only goal was to sleep with me, I’m starting to wonder if he wants someone to be his constant source of supply to build him up and make him feel good about himself. Men with narcissistic tendencies often have messed up family lives where they grew up not feeling adequate in any way, shape, or form.
“Should we try going for a walk again?” I ask him, keeping my hair over my shoulder so my ear stays hidden. “And hope no one tries to steal my purse again.”
“Yeah. This way?” He tips his head toward the Wrigley Building. Of course, he’s trying to get me to go home with him. We make it a couple blocks and it’s like hitting a brick wall to get a conversation going that doesn’t feel forced.