AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Just like that, my cunt is dripping wet and my nipples are hard.
Please let me out of the room.
He doesn’t answer, but a few minutes later I hear the door unlock, followed by a knock.
I open the door. “Good morning,” I greet.
He laughs. “Try good afternoon. It’s almost dinnertime.”
I shrug. “What do you want from me? I was tired.”
He smiles.
I’m irritated with myself to admit that it’s nice.
“Your belongings are here. Do you want to grab them? I’ll get dinner ready and you can get dressed and do whatever it is lasses do in the mornings?”
“Sure.” I follow him through the apartment like a fucking golden retriever, again. Sitting on the kitchen island is a large hamper filled with bags and boxes. “Whoa, I didn’t order all of that.” Not even half by the looks of it.
“I know. I took the liberty of adding some more items to the cart. Can you find your way back to the room?”
I nod, and grab my massive basket. In my room, I dump it all onto the bed.Holy shit. I put the toiletries and makeup I requested away, as well as the running shoes, leggings, t-shirts, and a hoodie. The sports bras, socks, and cotton underwear round out the extent of what I asked for. Ok, Mr. O’Connell, explain the jeans, sweaters, dresses, ballet flats, high heels, and lacy bra and panty sets?
I decide to ponder that in the shower. Grabbing the clarifying shampoo I’d asked for, I wash my hair repeatedly, watching the black dye run down the drain. I’m glad I’d only done a semi-permanent. I slather enough conditioner on to saturate my hair, twist it up onto my head and start scrubbing my skin down. Then I shave and exfoliate.
I blow-dry my hair. I’m happy to see the chocolate brown color back. My makeup is light, in part because of the stitches in my lip. The makeup does help to blend the bruising in, so I feel less broken. I highlight my eyes with just enough shadow to make them glow. Looking at my new clothes, I consider wearing the leggings and t-shirts I’d asked for. But when I feel the softest ivory sweater I’ve ever felt in my life, my plans change. I’m looking for a bra when I realize I have to wear one of his bras with the light-colored shirt.Sneaky asshole.I debate rejecting the matching panties on principle, but hate to split up a set.
I wander back into the kitchen. Sean looks up from the wine he’s pouring. He’s dressed much like yesterday, only today his jacket is gone and the button-down shirt is open at the collar with the sleeves rolled to the elbow, showing off muscular forearms and colorful tattoos. I feel his eyes travel from my face to my feet and back.
“You look beautiful, Rebecca.”
I freeze and feel the color drain from my face, my pulse starting to beat frantically. I don’t want Pierre to end up on the bad side of the mob for helping me become Rebecca. I can’t risk them finding out about Tasha in my real life.
“My men recovered what was left of your purse. Your ID held up very well.”
I’m still frozen in place. Sean calls my name. My fake name. I snap out of it. He’s giving me a quizzical look, but seems to shake it off.
“Hope you don’t mind, I had steak delivered. Would you mind taking the wine out to the balcony?” He points at a sliding door I didn’t notice yesterday. I step onto the balcony, and almost faint. The massive space overlooks Central Park. I didn’t know people even owned these buildings, much less lived in them. “Holy shit,” I whisper to myself.
Sean enters carrying plates of steaks and sides. I turn and ask him, “So do all the Irish mobsters have gazillion dollar apartments or are you just special?”
He laughs again. “Well, most of the men do pretty well for themselves, but realistically speaking I do get some perks based on the position.”
“What position is that?”
Sean stops and looks at me for a minute. A sly smile spreads across his face. “Rebecca, I’m the head of the Irish mob.”
I choke on my wine for a minute.Holy shit.What the fuck do I say to that? Then it occurs to me. He hates Popov, but I’m pretty fucking sure he isn’t going to like a reporter that’s poking around the New York mafia scene in general. A recurrent mantra of ‘oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck’ is chanting through my head.
The asshole notices. “You don’t need to be afraid of me, little one.”
The fuck I don’t.He just has no idea how much I need to be afraid of him.
“Why do you call me that?” I ask.
“Because I want to.”
I roll my eyes so hard my head turns with them.
