Where are these insane thoughts coming from?
Why would I ever dream this man would think of me like that?
He probably has hordes of women throwing themselves at him every night, a whole harem of concubines to select from whenever he wants. He has models and socialites whose sole aim in life is to be rake thin and fulfill his every need.
“I want you to be comfortable here,” he says, his whole body trembling slightly. Or perhaps I’m imagining it. If he’s not angry with my singing, I’m not sure what I did to make him so clearly furious. Perhaps it was something to do with my gardening, but I was only weeding the cracks in the cobblestones. “What’s your name?”
“Lena Jenkins,” I murmur, licking my way too dry lips.
His eyes flit to my tongue. They widen for a brief moment, and then he narrows them back to hunter’s slits.
I curse my disobedient tongue. Not only does it wiggle like crazy and say things it shouldn’t, but now I’ve gone and grossed him out by slurping at my lips when I’m supposed to be demure and respectful.
Oh, and I’m looking at him again. Something seriously is the matter with me this afternoon, jeez.
“I won’t keep you any longer,” he snarls, turning to give me a view of his broad back, his shoulders so wide I’d need three sets of arms to wrap myself around him.
He strides away. I can’t help but let my eyes devour each rippling muscle of his back as he walks, the sun catching the beads of sweat from his workout.
Then he rounds the corner and I stumble back, letting out panting breaths, having to pinch myself to convince my brain that that was real, it really frickin’ happened.
I place my hands on my hips and force myself to stand up straight, sucking in warm summer air and slow my breathing.
Vignettes cycle like hellish temptations through my mind, as I imagine running my hands down his rippled body, feeling what’s underneath those loose fitting shorts, how hard he is and …
I shake my head.
I’ve never thought like this before, these dirty thoughts, but there’s something about Lorenzo DeLuca that’s just busted the doors of my desire wide open like he’s just fired a twelve gauge shotgun of lust at my womb.
Eliza walks around the corner a moment later. She’s tied her hair back with a green bandana folded into a strip and her matching garden gloves on. She’s taken her glasses off to work, her eyes open wide as she approaches. But as she gets closer, I know that her eyes are pinned open in shock.
“What was Mr. DeLuca talking to you about, Lena?” she asks.
“I honestly don’t know,” I whisper. “I thought he was angry about my singing, but then he said he wanted me to be comfortable and I could sing if I wanted.”
The older woman frowns, glancing at where I’ve been working. “Hmm, your work looks good.”
“Is he going to fire me?” I say. “I’ve just moved out of the orphanage and I need the rent money and …”
She steps forward, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Just relax,” she says.
But she can’t tell me that everything’s going to be fine or that he’s not going to fire me, because she doesn’t know. Mr. DeLuca will do whatever he wants whenever he wants. He’s the Don of the most powerful Family in the world. He’s a billionaire.
I’m just an orphan whose birth parents were crack addicts and died when a crack den caught fire when I was ten years old. I have nobody in the whole world and if I’ve made Mr. DeLuca angry for some reason – even if I don’t know what – there’s nothing stopping him from doing the worst to me.
“Just focus on your work,” she says. “That’s all you can do for now.”
I nod and turn back to the flowerbed, biting down on my lip to remind myself that singing is a no-no. Just because he said I was allowed to, I can’t ignore the fact that singing is what brought him over here in the first place.
For a moment, a wayward thought darts into my mind like a Cupid’s arrow. I imagine that he wasn’t angry with me, that the tightness of his Adonis muscles wasn’t rage, but that he wanted me in the same way my body screams that it wants him.
“Stupid girl,” I whisper, talking to myself like I sometimes did at the orphanage when the long cold nights became too lonely.
I reach across and wind a weed around my fingers, gripping it tightly as I pull.
CHAPTER THREE
Lorenzo
I sit in the back of the sedan as it glides through the city, grinding my teeth so hard I can hear the rubbing deep in my skull. My manhood is pressing like a flaming sword right up against my boxer briefs and my muscles are so engorged I’m surprised my dark blue suit doesn’t tear at the seams.
My thoughts have been a battleground all morning, Lena on one side and my business commitments on the other. I was able to drag my attention away for a few hours to deal with my business, but now that I’m riding the sedan back to the mansion, thoughts of Lena have returned like a counter attacking army.
I picture her in those shorts, remembering the way they climbed up into the soft folds of her sex. I knew if I pushed them just a little bit higher I’d see all of her creamy plus size perfect thighs, gripping into her scrumptious flesh and tasting the way she moaned with my ears, sampling her twitching desire with my eyes.
I wanted to grab the bun of her hair and loosen it, letting it cascade down her shoulders like a symbol of her fertility. It radiated from
