Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Dad
Chapter 135

To my chagrin, the first photograph in the book is one of Kent with his arm wrapped around Natalia's

ers, grinning at the camera while Natalia crosses her arms and gives the camera saucy look.

But as I look closer at it, I can't help but smile and laugh a little. Because Kent looks so much like Daniel-so much so that if you hadn't told me any better, I'd have said that that was Daniel in the photograph wearing a flannel shirt with very 90's floppy hair. My eyes run over Kent's face, his figure, and I have to bite my lip a little at the sight of him. He just looks so young, so happy. I mean honestly, it's not like I really think of Kent as old now - he's still crazy hot and in incredible shape. But in this picture he's what... sixteen? Christ, he's younger than I am now.

I begin to flip through the album, smiling more at the vintage fashions, the shots of Kent and Natalia in the talian countryside, then lounging around in someone's bedroom, even eating gelato in a city somewhere - maybe Rome? I linger particularly on the few close-up shots of Kent's face, clearly taken by an admirer, when I realize that this album actually doesn't have any pictures of Lenai in it. And that's when I realize that it's her album because...she took the pictures.

And I go still, a little bit, realizing that this is so much more of a glimpse into her life - into Daniel's mothers life, than it is to Kent's or Natalia's. And that feels just so...incredibly intimate, to be seeing Kent through his wife's eyes before she was even his wife...that I have to close the book.

I let it rest a moment on my lap and then, on impulse, I set it quickly aside. Like it will burn me, or curse me or something - I don't know.

I pick up my glass of wine and sit quietly in the chair for a long time, trying to parse through my emot

And I'm shocked, and a little scared, to find that the one that keeps rising to the top is...jealousy.

Jealous. I'm jealous of Lenai. I want to be the one who watched Kent grow up, who got to go on his first adventures with him, who took photos of him falling asleep on a train in the Italian countryside. I want to be the one who wondered what kind of man he'd turn out to be.

And quite suddenly I'm horribly, bitterly jealous of this woman. Which I know is ridiculous because she's dead - she's been dead for a long time, and I know Kent has moved on from her.

But she got so many wonderful moments with him - moments I'll never have.

And I get what...a few stolen nights tucked away in his bedroom in secret? I mean, has he ever even touched me outside, in the light of day?

I curl up then, in my chair, tucking my face into my hands, completely overwhelmed by the realization that the best I'm ever going to get in Kent's heart is second place.

And I'm absolutely terrified by the realization that I want to be first. I want to mean more to him - I want to mean the most.

Because maybe that's what he is to...

But no. I shut down the thought, making my mind turn to other things. My brain trips over itself in its attempt to find something new to mull over, and cruelly - it turns to Ivan. To what he said yesterday - that he offered me everything, and I'd picked an old, dead man over him. Someone who will never, ever love me.

And suddenly I feel just...horribly stupid. God, what had I done?

Is this seriously it?

Did I turn down something that could have been great - the equivalent big love that Kent and Lenai had for each other - because I wanted to have sex with Kent? Did I seriously, seriously choose that? Just because Kent is hotter than Ivan - because that, I can finally admit to myself is true - but seriously, am I just a stupid girl who followed a hot guy down a path that's going to lead to my death?

I start to panic a little bit now, pressing my hands over my mouth and forcing myself - forcing myself to take deep breaths.

A few long moments pass and I start to calm down. But what I need, I realize, is a distraction. A big one. Because if I keep going along with this line of thinking, I'm going to completely freak out.

So, I reach out for the top magazine on the pile closest to my chair and drag it in front of my face, making myself flick through the pages and concentrate on the lewd photographs and the pulp fiction of a vintage Playboy from the 70s.

It takes a while, but eventually through a combination of forcing myself to concentrate, and willfully pushing away my questions about how much Kent loved Lenai, and whether I'm an idiot who is going to die because she was to s*x-addled to be smart enough to get herself away, I begin to calm down.

And as I calm down, and let myself be distracted from what are, arguably, the more important questions...I find myself starting to become intrigued.

The first time I came down here into this basement, I had been way too embarrassed to truly engage with this literature, no matter how much Fiona encouraged me. Plus, I had stumbled onto that s*x tape from Kent, which had been a step too far. My eyes flick, just once, to shelf of unlabeled black tapes - but then I decide against it. I didn't need to compare his technique with other women to what he does with me. I just avoided one jealous panic attack - perhaps best to avoid another. But as I flick through the magazine this time, now that I have what is inarguably more experience under my belt - though much less than Kent, I'm well aware - I find myself not shy at all about exploring what I'm finding on the page.

Some of it does not appeal to me at all. The pictures of solo women bearing their bodies for the photographer don't do much - I'm pretty thoroughly straight, I'm aware, so while I can admire these women's beauty, I flip through these sections pretty fast. But the images of women actually paired with men...

Especially the ones of women on their knees with men standing in front of them...

These are the ones that have me lingering on the page, studying the men's faces as they bury their fingers in these women's hair, as they come completely undone...

And suddenly, quite suddenly, I realize something. And I blink, and put the magazine down in my lap. Because I know that Kent is going to expect me to show up tonight in his room all upset, demanding answers, making him swear that he feels nothing for Natalia and that he's not going to leave me for her.

As I've made him do before.

And then, once he tells me what I want to hear, he'll take me to bed and f**k me senseless until I can't remember my name, let alone why I was mad at him. I'm well aware that Kent uses sex to influence with my emotions, to sway my decisions towards what he

wants.

And I'm also aware that up until now? Well. Let's just say it's been worth it.

But as I glance back at the women on the pages of the magazine, and the men who stand above them with their eyes pressed shut, their mouths hanging open...

I begin to wonder...could I do the same to him?

And I snap the magazine shut, getting quite suddenly to my feet.

Because I think...it may be time to ry.

"Hey," I say to Kent as I lean against the doorway after pressing open the door at the top of the stone steps, which opens soundlessly.

He turns to me, surprised. I'm earlier tonight than I usually am.

"Fay," he says, smiling and sinking his hands into his pockets as he turns to me. "Hi."

"Hi," I reply, returning his smile, my own hands deep in the pockets of the fur-trimmed robe that Kent gave me forever ago. I'm wearing the pretty moccasins he sent me too, but both are a decoy. Because underneath this robe I am wearing a v-neck romper made with completely sheer fabric. Honestly, it barely counts as clothing, the way it dips all the way down to my belly button and barely skirts my ass before dipping between my cheeks. It's uncomfortable and cold, frankly, but damn do I look good in it. And I want him hard the moment he slips this robe from my shoulders. So. Sacrifices must be made.

"What are you doing here?" Kent asks me, smirking and taking a few slow steps towards me.

I pout and him, pretending to be disappointed. "Do you want me to go?"

"No," he says instantly, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me close to him. "I had...work to do. But it can wait." He lowers his head then to his favorite place between my neck and my shoulder, deeply breathing in my scent as I wrap my arms around his neck. "See that's a shame," I murmur, laughing a little as his breath tickles my skin. "Because I was hoping to ask you for a favor."

"Really?" Kent asks, surprised and intrigued enough to lift his head and look me in the face again. "You want something from me?" A smirk comes to his mouth.

"Yes," I say, biting my lip as an anxious little flutter starts in my stomach, because even though I'm feeling bold - and I've had enough wine to make me braver than I usually am - well. I never do anything like this. "Kent?" I ask, hesitating. "Yes?" he responds, curious.

"Do you think you can teach me how to give you a blow job?"