Page 22 of Sexting His Son's Ex
My eyes are glued to the TV. The scenes play out and switch, the lighting changing, changing the darkness of the room, and I’m taking in none of it.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I think about the tasks for tomorrow. I’m going to have to set up a meeting with Bianchi. I want to see for myself how he acts around me, what he allows himself to say, or if he meets me with me at all. It will have to be here on my property where everything is under surveillance and guarded.
His every move and word will be recorded.
What leaves me confused is to why he would be trying to buy the loyalty of my people in order to take over my territory. Sure, the more one controls, the more powerful they become, but Bianchi is powerful enough. Taking my territory will spread him too thin. He can fool the people that he pays, but he can’t fool me. No good leader would keep another leader’s employees. He will kill them and if the people who work for me can’t see that, then they’re dumber than I thought.
My phone buzzes from the floor and it has the stress of Bianchi and everything else fade away. I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m sliding across the sheets and leaning over the edge of the mattress to snag it.
It’s my Ms. Smith.
Grinning like a fool, I lean against the headboard again, tuning out the TV show.
Ms. Smith: “Sorry it took so long for me to answer. I sat here and studied every detail of that photo and now…”
I bite my bottom lip, my fingers flying over the screen.
Me: “…And now what? Did I not pass the inspection? ; )”
It’s a joke, but now that I’ve said it, I’m wondering if it’s true.
Her: “Oh, you passed a little too well, Mr. Smith.”
A video comes through next, the alert vibrating against my palm. I stare at it, my thumb hovering over the play button. A hot sheen of sweat breaks out over my entire body, my cock twitching under the towel.
“Get yourself together. You’re one of the deadliest men in the country.” I try to give myself a pep talk to watch this video.
I shouldn’t be nervous considering I’m a grown fucking man with two grown sons. A man who had another man killed the other day. A man who rules an entire city with a flick of the wrist.
Pain. Death. Power. Money. Control.
They all come so easily.
Intimacy after so many years does not.
Even though I’m Santino Salvati, I don’t fuck any woman who throws themselves at me. I don’t go out searching for a different woman every night. I’ve never been the type. I’m a romantic atheart. I believe being possessive of the one you love is the most powerful thing someone can have.
So yes, I’m nervous because I’m stepping outside of a comfort zone I’ve locked myself in for many, many years.
I press play.
“Fuck,” I moan, turning my phone to the side.
I want a full display.
She’s smart. She didn’t show her face just like I didn’t, which is fine. Everyone should feel comfortable enough to protect themselves in any way they want.
My mystery woman is lying on her bed. Her comforter is pale pink and fluffy, seemingly soft to the touch. I grip my own blanket in my hand, jealous over it being able to touch her skin and not me.
The volume on the TV is too loud, drowning out any noise, if there is any, on the video. Picking up the remote, I press the mute button, then start the video over.
Her legs are bent, her knees pointing to the ceiling. Her thighs…Fuck… her thighs. They are thick, and the smooth, flawless flesh is begging for my attention. If I were there, my head would be buried in that valley, eating like a starved man that hasn’t had a good meal in weeks.
Her breathy moans and gasps have my cock coming to life again. I unwrap the towel from around my waist, tossing it onto the floor. I swallow, lust nearly choking me as I watch her hand move between her legs.
The sounds falling from her turn to broken whines. She pulls her fingers free, lifting them toward the camera to show me how slick and shiny they are.
I gently stroke my hard cock, not going too fast because I want this conversation to last, but then her video stops, and I’m left wanting more.
