Fall For My Ex's Mafia Dad novel Chapter 122

About fourteen minutes later, I study myself in the mirror, my stomach a mess of butterflies.

I’m better than I was about twelve minutes ago, though, when I’d been sitting on the floor drinking directly from the bottle of wine, hissing desperately into the phone to my sister while she tried talk me down. Luckily, the combination of alcohol and sister logic eventually pulled me together.

“Get your ass up,” Janeen had ordered me, “put on that little outfit, and take charge. You’re the boss, Fay, not him.”

“Right,” I had gritted through my teeth. “Except he’s a literal mob boss. And I’m just –“

“Nope,” she had interrupted. “Not today. Today you’re Fay, mob mistress, who gets precisely what she wants. Right?”

“Right,” I had growled, briskly hanging up the phone and grabbing the scrab of lace before heading for the bathroom.

Honestly? It looks really good on me, I think, turning to admire the way the cheeky little bottom of the lace teddy curves around my ass. I look – well, way sexier than I thought I would.

Suddenly, a light knock comes at the door and my eyes go wide.

Shit. My fifteen minutes are up.

“Just a second!” I call, diving for the bed and grabbing the requested Prada shoes from their place on the duvet. Then, pulling them on, I kick the empty lingerie box under my bed and turn towards the door.

I take a moment to close my eyes and take a deep breath.

You’re the boss, Fay, I tell myself, my heart pounding in my ribcage. You’re in charge. Not him.

The knock comes again.

I open my eyes.

“Come in,” I call. My voice shocks me by coming out calmer, deeper than I expected.

“Really,” I hear myself ask, raising an eyebrow. “This outfit…pleases you? The same amount as everything else I wear?”

He cocks his head to the side, looking down at my body, his eyes lingering on my breasts that are delicately cradled by the underwire of my bustier.

“You look beautiful in everything you wear, Fay,” he replies, taking a step back from me. He snaps his eyes up to meet mine, though, almost making me jump. “And the answer is yes, if what you’re really asking is if I want to fuck you no matter what you’re wearing.”

My breath catching in shock at this blunt admission of his desire. But he ignores me, returning to his study of my body, my clothes. Despite his words, he looks at me like a connoisseur, not a lover.

“Would you turn around for me?” he asks calmly. “I’d like to see the full effect.”

I oblige him, slowly turning around for him to see me from all sides. When I turn to face him again, his eye are locked on mine.

“Beautiful,” he says. “Stunning, Fay. Thank you.”