Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Dad
Chapter 124

Kent only pauses for a second when he looks at me as I come back out of the closet, but it's enough to make a slow smile creep over my face. I cross the room back to him and lean casually against the tiny bar, wiggling my hips a little in an attempt to get him to look at me again. The underwear set that I've chosen can...well, it's so flimsy that it barely deserves to be called underwear. But I look damn good in it. And Kent knows it, even if he's pretending he doesn't.

He shifts his eyes to mine briefly before returning to his process. "Do you mind, Fay?" he asks quietly, nudging my elbow away from its place on the bar. "It's a small work area."

"I do mind," I sigh, leaning forward and allowing my elbow to taking up more space as I place my chin in my palm, looking up at him. "What's taking so long?"

"It takes a while," Kent answers as he peels the rind off of an orange and rubs it around the edge of a glass already filled with a whiskey cocktail. "To make a nice drink."

I pout a little as I look down at the glasses. "I wanted tequila."

Kent smirks and shakes his head at me, taking a step back from the bar and handing me my drink after popping the orange peel into it. "You should have told me that," he says, "before I made old fashioneds."

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 b****t, "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.