Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Dad
Chapter 96

Deciding that none of the first seven drawers are right for me - and honestly, feeling a little like picky little Goldilocks at this point saying "too hot" or "too cold," I move to the eighth drawer.

My hands slow when I pull it open and see the silkiest little nightgown in gunmetal grey. I gasp a little, pulling it out by its spaghetti straps and holding it up. Unlike some of the other drawers which had...accessories....this little nightie sits by itself. There's not even a shoe polaroid next to it, suggesting it should be worn barefoot.

Unable to stop myself, I quickly unclasp my bra and tuck it in the empty drawer, and then pull the nightgown on over my head, loving the way that it slides over my chest and comes to rest just at the top of my thighs. It's simple but, somehow, just so incredibly chic. I spin around in it, biting my lip and enjoying the slide of the silk against my skin, excited. My choice made, I quickly fold the little pink sweatsuit and tuck it neatly away before I leaving the closet and close the doors behind me.

Eager to get back to my first curiosity - the books - I move swiftly across the room to the fireplace, which is luckily electric. I flick it on, hoping to warm up a little, and then go to the first bookshelf.

To my chagrin, all of the books are turned spine-backwards. The result of this is aesthetically pleasing, but...damn it, I have no idea what the books are. So, frowning, I spend the next hour or so finding out what Kent is hiding here, pulling the books out one by one and looking them over. I making a little pile of those I want to read and put back those which are uninteresting to me, getting excited about my afternoon plans.

Overall, I have to admit that I'm...impressed by Kent's collection. When I first saw the books, I assumed his decorator put them all here as part of the room's design. But, as I flick through them, I realize that many of them have notes in the same tiny, neat handwriting. He has quite a variety here too - some classics, some military strategy, some contemporary texts and some pieces of fiction of which I've never heard.

I have to admit, I didn't think had it in him. I don't think he'd strike anyone, ever, as a bookworm like me.

After I get through about a quarter of the shelves, I carry my little pile over to the fireplace and spend the next few hours reading, the little throw blanket tucked neatly around me. At some point food appears, but I only notice it because the smell of roast beef creeps across the room to me and I turned my head towards the scent, spying a little tray by a door in the corner of the room.

My mouth falls open - how the hell did that get there? And then I blush to think that someone must have quietly brought it through another door, and they must have seen me sitting mostly naked in this nightgown lost in my book and decided to leave me alone. I sigh, bringing the tray over to my warm chair, deciding not to worry about it. And then I eat as I read, losing myself in a book of military strategy that - by Kent's frequent annotations - he apparently liked as well.

A few hours later, I find myself yawning, my eyes drooping. I look around, hesitant, realizing that the whole day has passed without word from Kent. But...he did tell me not to go.

So, with a little shrug, I make my way back to the bed, leaving the little fire on to light the room a little bit while I sleep. And then I curl up in the bed where Kent tucked me in a few hours before, trying to keep my eyes open to read a little more of the book, but eventually falling asleep with my cheek pillowed on the page.

I'm awoken, I don't know how much later, by the feel of something heavy on the mattress next to me. Surprised by the sudden change, I gasp a little turning towards the movement, but I quickly realize that it's him, warm beside me. Kent, his body stripped down to his boxer-briefs - his skin and hair a little damp, apparently from a shower -

Wait, where was his shower? The little bathroom I used through a door next to the fireplace was just a little half bath -

"Shhh," Kent says apologetically, working to put me at ease after he woke me. He slides his body close to mine and his hands are instantly on me, one sliding behind my head so that my head is pillowed on his arm, the other slipping down over the silky grey nightgown and then flipping it aside, moving upwards again up the length of my thigh to my stomach.

I press my back into the warmth of his chest, grumbling a little at having been woken but pleased to have him near again.

"Where did you find this flimsy little thing," Kent murmurs, lowering his face to my shoulder and running his lips across my skin. I smile, yawning a little.

"Oh, this old thing?" I reply. "I've had it for years. Practically a rag."

Kent gives me a punishing little nip on my shoulder for that. "This is watered silk, Fay," he murmurs, nudging my shoulder with his nose so that I turn away a bit, giving him the freedom to drop kisses along my shoulder blades and down the length of my spine. "You call it a rag again, and you'll pay for it." He moves his hand to my ass, cupping it a little, reminding me of my "punishment" this afternoon.

I laugh a little, but then wince as he squeezes a bit.

"What?" he asks, pulling away from me and looking down at my body. "Does it hurt?"

"Just a little tender," I mumble, which is true. I had looked at my butt in the mirror this afternoon, curious to see it pleasantly pink where Kent had smacked it so fiercely. I had blushed - of course - but...I had also liked it. A little souvenir for me to remember that moment.

That really, really hot moment.

I'm remembering it now as I press my hips backwards against Kent, wanting him close to me. He complies, moving his free hand upward again across my stomach to clasp one of my breasts in his palm, purring a little deep in his chest as he feels the way I fill his hand, as he shifts his hips to curl against my ass.

I moan a little at his touch, at the way his thumb flicks over my nipple, at the way I can feel him growing stiff against me. It's a feeling I'm starting to get used to, which makes me feel aroused now, rather than shocked and embarrassed. Things move quickly then, with none of the games or repartee that we've engaged in before. Kent and I - we both simply want each other, fast, now. Kent takes his hand away from my breast to pull his shorts down, and then he's still kicking them off as he dips that hand between my legs, touching me softly. But when he feels how wet I am - already soaking for him - the purr in his chest turns to a growl and he shifts again so that his c**k is pressed swiftly against my entrance.

I shift myself, lifting my hips so that he can fit himself in, and then Kent swiftly slides into me, shuddering as he does. I press my eyes closed, gasping a little at the sudden force of him, at the sudden fierceness with which I want him. Kent tightens his arms around me, pulling me close against his chest as he thrusts himself deep and deeper into me, and then he moves one hand down, slipping between my thighs to find me slick, pressing his fingers against me just where I want to be touched.

I cum quickly, almost gently this time, under his expert hands. It's nothing like how it was this afternoon - an experience that shook me to my core, exhausted me, baffled me. While that was an explosion, this is like a cup spilling over, the sensation splashing through me and filling me with its warmth. I'm still shuddering, Kent's fingers softly guiding me through it, when I feel him cum as well, his thrusts turning hard and thorough before his body goes still behind me as he gasps against my neck. And then we both lay still for a long while, panting quietly, Kent still buried inside of me as he clasps me to his chest, one hand on each of my breasts.

I think we both almost fall asleep a little bit, just like that, when Kent twitches awake and groans, pulling away from me and sitting up, running a hand through his hair.

"Come back to sleep," I murmur, reaching out for him. And he nods to me, letting me know that he will, before he reaches over for an alarm clock sitting on his bedside table and expertly winds it, pressing the buttons so that it will ring at the proper hour. "An alarm clock?" I ask, my surprise waking me a little. I sitting up on my elbows, watching him. "Um, Kent," I say, a little derisive, "you know that they have phones now. Phones that have those built in."

"I'm an old man, Fay," Kent scolds, putting the clock back in its place on the table and turning back to glower over me. "Leave me to be set in my ways. Besides, that," he says, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb to indicate the little metal clock, "would wake the dead. And it doesn't turn off if it fails to charge overnight."

"Oh, and shall I light your lantern for you, my lord, so that you may see in the dark?" I tease, laughing a little. "And in the morning, we shall tie a message to the foot of your swiftest pigeon, so you can communicate with those you love who live afar -" "Shut up," Kent growls at me, but he's laughing too as he gathers me into his arms before laying on his back.

"And one day, you shall throw out your abacus, because they shall invent a mighty machine called a calculator which will add great sums -"

"Enough!" Kent snarls, though his implied threat is ruined, a bit, by the fact that he's also laughing. I pillow my head on his chest, my body still shaking a little bit with a fading giggle as I close my eyes. "Go to sleep, Fay," he orders, grumpy. "It's late." "Don't boss me 'round," I murmur, rubbing my face against him until I'm settled just how I like. And then, within moments, we both fall asleep.