Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I spent some time last night on Google, trying to read up on their ways, but I couldn’t find much, so I was left wanting. All I recall from my childhood eavesdropping was how my father spoke of these elusive men. They dealt primarily in weapons and drugs. Anything you want, they can get.
There were many times I’d sneak into the room next to my father’s office to listen to the conversations. My father didn’t know I overheard him, but since then I’ve wondered about them. Intrigued by the mystery, even though I knew the secrets would be Daddy’s downfall, I still found myself wanting more. Needing more.
Then later in life, before my father died, he had a meeting with one of his partners, Arturo, and they spoke about the Moretti mansion where who I’m guessing was Franco’s father held lavish parties.
Where men dressed to kill, in more ways than one, and women, young enough, but legal, who kneeled at their feet, were a regular thing. Perhaps that’s where my obsession came from. Wanting to know why women would do that.
Why kneel for a man?
I was just fifteen when I first met Lucio. He became my obsession. And deep down, I became his. As much as we were forbidden from ever going public with our relationship, I didn’t want to stop seeing him. He never did anything more than kiss me back then. Even though I begged him for more, for his fingers to explore me, like I did to myself. But he stood strong on his convictions and waited until I was eighteen.
He was twenty-four the first time I laid my eyes on him, too old for me some would say, but for us, age didn’t matter. It was how compatible we were mentally. I challenged him.
And then, when we finally had sex, our bodies fit perfectly. So did our hearts. I fell. Hard and fast. Just like the way he used to fuck me.
He gave my body what it craved, my heart what it desired, and my mind what it imagined. There’s no doubt Franco would offer me the same if I asked for it. But would he if he knew how pure I really am? I’ve only ever been with one man, Lucio. Perhaps he’ll push me away, but I know how to play men like Franco Moretti, to taunt and tease them. That’s why I find myself in a luxurious car that’s taking me to something darker. More dangerous, but so deliciously sexy.
The car silently pulls up to two monstrous wrought-iron gates. As we wait, they glide open gracefully and the car eases up the long, windy, tree-lined driveway. The estate is immaculate. When the house comes into view, I can’t stifle my gasp. It’s incredible. Three floors of open brick with large white-framed windows. There are large potted plants on either side of the entrance with the most colorful, yet breathtaking hurricane lilies in them. The flower also known to grow in Hell. Perhaps I’m on my way there now.
The house exudes wealth. The second and third floors have terraces running from left to right with balcony doors, which I’m guessing are for each of the bedrooms. The ground floor has one bright red double door, which is the main entrance, paved with small cherry trees lining it. It oozes affluence without being superficial. The car comes to a stop and the driver exits to make his way to my door.
Once it opens and I step out, he offers me a bow and gestures with his hand to the door. “Mr. Moretti will be with you soon, miss.” With that, I’m left alone, at the door to my future.
When I take in the door on closer inspection, I notice the gold knocker. The name Moretti lingers in my mind, and something clicks. Recognition. My heart that was beating wildly now leaps into my throat. It’s him. It must be.
Before I have time to make sense of what I’ve just realized, the door opens. When I step inside, the spicy scent of his cologne envelops me and the smirk I’ve been picturing for two days straight beckons me.
“Welcome, Raina.” He caresses my name with his tongue, lips, and voice as if he’s making love to it. And everything south of my belly button tightens.
“Mr. Moretti, it’s a pleasure.” I offer a shy smile, although the thoughts of who he is threaten to steal my composure. The dark eyes that seem to pierce my soul narrow as he regards me quizzically. When I really look at him, I realize without a doubt, it’s the young man from a photo I found long ago. But he’s no longer as innocent-looking. He’s a man.
“You’ve read the rules?” he questions, dragging me from lucid memories, and I nod. “Good. Let’s get started.” He doesn’t wait for me to follow. He knows I will. He stalks toward the inner sanctum and I’m blown away by the modern lines, yet almost historic feel of the mansion. The artwork lining the walls has my eyes widening. All the Masters hang on the walls, from Van Gogh to Dali, from Picasso to Matisse.