Filed to story: Falling for My Ex's Mafia Dad Novel Free PDF (Fay Alden & Kent Lippert)
I look dubiously down into my glass, squinting one eye. “Is it any good?”
He laughs again and clinks his drink against mine. “Try it, Fay. You might like it.”
I sneer a little as I lift the glass to my nose, sniffing the drink. “That’s what you said about the fois gras,” I mumble. “And that was gross.”
Kent just smirks at me and takes a long sip of his drink before starting to walk away back towards the bed. I straighten up as I watch him go, my eyes darting directly to the elastic of his underwear waistband, to the place where it presses delicately against his tanned skin. And it’s certainly not because of the whiskey that my mouth begins to water.
Still, I take a long sip of the drink, considering it as Kent tosses his reading glasses on his bedside table and sits down on the bed, relaxing against the headboard with one foot flat on the mattress, his leg bent at the knee.
“What do you think?” he asks, and I swirl the drink around in my mouth before swallowing.
“Well,” I say, looking consideringly down at it. “The whiskey part is gross, but I like the sugar.”
Kent just smirks at me and raises one hand, beckoning me closer with a curl of his fingers as he moves his own cocktail to the table next to him. I obey, but I stoop down to grab the little bottle of tequila that I see at the bottom of the bar on my way.
“Fay,” Kent groans, reaching for me as I come close and pulling me on top of him so that my knees straddle his lap, a bottle of tequila in one of my hands and my whiskey cocktail in the other. “Honestly, girl,” he says, pulling me closer to him with two hands on my waist, “I can dress you in La Pearla and give you a cocktail made with twenty-year-old Bourbon, but you’ll still want tequila and tell me your favorite part of the drink I made is the two cent’s worth of sugar.”
“What did you expect, Kent,” I murmur, tilting my head back to finish off my cocktail as he lowers his face to my chest, pressing his lips to the swell of my breast, “the first time we met was in a prison, the second was in a strip club. My sister’s strip club, none the less. I never promised class.”
Kent laughs again and looks up into my face. “Pearls before swine,” he murmurs, but I can tell he doesn’t mean it. That he likes me just like this.
“Hey,” I whisper with a little snarl, bringing my mouth close to his, “call me a swine again. See what happens.” But I don’t give him the chance, kissing him before he can speak, opening my mouth to him and letting him tug me flush against him, my stomach against his chest.
I wait for Kent to shudder a little, until he utters his first little moan, before I pull away, unlooping my arms from around his neck and pulling my left knee over his lap so that I can sit beside him, rather than straddle him.
“Hey,” he growls, reaching for me, but I hold up one finger with a little difficulty, considering I have my empty whiskey glass in that hand.
“Uh-uh,” I say, pursing my lips. “One drink and then you think you can get me in bed? With no conversation? Not much of a date, Mr. Lippert.”
Kent glares at me and snatches the empty glass from my hand, putting it roughly on the bedside table next to his. “You’re already in bed, Fay,” he growls, turning back towards me and rolling his body in an attempt to cover mine, to pin me to the mattress in the way he knows I like.
I’m tempted but well, honestly, I’m a little serious. I want him I always want him. But I also want…a minute with him, before we dive into all of that. A minute just to talk, to connect.
“Come on, Kent,” I say, grinning up at him as I place a hand flat against his chest, making him pause. “I’m cheap, but I’m not easy.”
Kent, glowering above me, raises a dubious eyebrow at me that makes me laugh, hard. But then he sighs and falls on his side, stretching his body out and propping his head up on his palm. “All right,” he says, curious. “What’s it going to take, Ms. Alden?”
“Well, you made me a cocktail,” I say, beginning to smirk as I lay my back flat on the mattress, my shoulders propped up against a pillow, and start to unscrew the top of the tequila bottle in my hand. “Now I’ll make you one.”
“Fay,” Kent says, suddenly worried and reaching for the bottle. “What are you doing let me get a glass ”
“No!” I object, laughing and pulling it out of his grasp. “This is my drink I’ll mix it as I please ”
“Oh my god,” he murmurs as he sees me hold the open bottle over my stomach. He reaches for the bottle again but I smack his arm away. “You’re going to get it all over the sheets “
“Well then you’d better drink quick,” I say as I pour juuuuust a little bit of tequila in the shallow well created by my belly button.
With a groan of dismay Kent dips his head to my stomach, and I laugh hysterically as he slurps the tequila off of me, thoroughly enjoying the movement of his lips and tongue against my skin as he does his best to get all of it up before it can drip onto his thousand-dollar sheets.
Kent succeeds, though not a drop of tequila gets away from him. Kent glares up at me when he’s finish and, I think in his idea of punishment, drags his tongue in a long, thick lick from my belly button halfway up my stomach. “What the hell were you thinking, Fay,” he growls.
“I don’t know,” I say, still grinning at him. “I saw it on MTV once when I was a kid. I always wanted to try it.”
“Well don’t do it again,” he commands, bringing his face level with mine and then grabbing the bottle of tequila out of my hands.
“Hey!” I shout, grabbing for it, but he pulls away from me and raises the bottle to his lips, taking a long drink. Kent shakes his head as he swallows, wincing at the burn of the liquor before handing it back to me.
“If we’re going to be classless, Fay,” he says, turning his eyes back to mine, “at least be clean.”
“I can work with that,” I reply, grinning before raising the bottle to my lips and taking a long drink myself. Then, I tuck the bottle in next to me as I snuggle back against the pillows and smile at Kent, enjoying the warm and cozy burn of the tequila in my chest, feeling it already bringing a little peace to my tired brain.
Kent eyes the open bottle anxiously but I tsk him and give him a little shove on his shoulder. He just rolls his eyes.
“I didn’t agree to chaos, Fay,” he informs me, shaking his head at me yet again.
“I know, Kent,” I say, lifting a sympathetic hand to his face. “But that’s the price you pay to have me all curled up in your bed.”
“Worth it,” Kent murmurs, the words barely audible as he turns his face to press a kiss to my palm. But then he turns his attention back to me. “Are you sure?” he asks, “that you don’t want to talk about what happened tonight?”
“Do we need to?” I ask, suddenly hesitant. “I mean…” I wiggle a little bit, trying to sit up straighter. “Are you…going to like, kick me out of the house?”
“No, Fay,” Kent promises, his face suddenly very serious despite the fact that he did a body shot off of me thirty seconds ago. “She can make demands all she wants, but this?” he says, nodding between us. “This is not hers to arbitrate.”
“Okay,” I say, relaxing back against the pillows. “Then, can we talk about it tomorrow? Can we just…have tonight?”
“Yes, Fay,” Kent murmurs, smiling at me. “If that’s what you want.”
And since it is what I want, I raise the tequila to my lips again, taking a sip before pressing it to Kent’s mouth. He holds my gaze as he takes the bottle from my hand, only breaking my eyeline as he tips his head back to take a steady drink. And then, when he lowers his head again, we talk.
And talk.
And we continue to talk, long into the night, way past the point when I’m sure Kent would have preferred to go to sleep. At first Kent just answers whatever random questions I can come up with, which get deeper and more poignant as we go. And then, after we’ve had enough tequila to make my brain pleasantly fuzzy, he begins to offer stories of his own.
And to my shock, Kent tells me all sorts of things about his life. Things I’m sure hardly anyone knows which Daniel himself might not even know.
He tells me about his charmed childhood at his father’s side, how he grew up with the best of everything before his father was brutally murdered in a mob hit when he was just a kid. He tells me about how he saw it happen. How he’ll never forget the sight of his father’s blood.
And then Kent tells me about how his world fell apart after his father’s death. I bite my lip as I listen to him tell it, not wanting to remind him that it is precisely that fate which Natalia wants to give me by having my own father murdered. But Kent meets my eyes as he tells me about how his mother scrambled to hold their life together, how his uncle stepped in to help, and I know that he understands. I know that this story is a promise that it won’t be the same for me.
“You know him, you know,” Kent says, taking another swig of tequila. “My uncle Gino.”
“What?” I ask, shocked. “Is he he’s not dead?” I’ve heard of him before, of course just briefly, I think from Daniel the man who helped Kent’s mother hold the family together for him while Kent was sent to Italy to be raised by the Bianci family.
“No, he’s not dead,” Kent says, laughing and grinning at me. Then he gestures towards the rest of the house with the bottle. “You see him every morning, Fay. At breakfast.”
“Oh!” I say, my eyes going wide. “Oh.” And then I slap a hand against my forehead, laughing at myself. “Seriously!? That’s your uncle Gino, at the table with the old men?”
Kent laughs at me, shaking his head. “Who did you think it was?”
“Well, I don’t know,” I say, rolling my eyes at him. “It’s not like you or Daniel ever had the grace to introduce me.”