Desired By The Mafia Boss

Chapter11

Mary pivots to face Jessamae, her face lighting up with a warm, comforting smile. "You appear to have had quite the tumultuous night, dear," she observes.

Jessamae mirrors her warm expression, gratitude shining in her eyes. "It has indeed been a night filled with unexpected adventures, to put it mildly. Thank you for your kindness. I truly appreciate it."

"I do hope the big brute didn't intimidate you too much," Mary remarks with a sympathetic cluck, as she busies herself gathering plush towels from the bathroom and preparing the bed for its new occupant. "He may present a daunting exterior, but beneath it all, he's quite harmless."

Jessamae, realizing that Mary is referring to Hanzo, can't help but release a soft chuckle. "I believe I'll manage to survive the night," she reassures the older woman.

She finds herself growing fond of Mary. The housekeeper's lively character and infectious cheerfulness are endearing. Anyone who can maintain such a sunny disposition while cohabitating with a man like Hanzo surely deserves some form of commendation.

A sudden thought strikes her, casting a shadow over her mood. Perhaps her decision to stay here was a mistake. But then again, what other options does she have? She can't risk dragging anyone else into this dangerous situation.

After Hanzo and Mary depart, leaving her alone in the opulent room, Jessamae indulges in a long, steam-filled shower in the most luxurious bathroom she's ever had the privilege of using. Afterwards, she sinks into the Alaskan-king-sized bed, her body enveloped in sheets woven from high-quality cotton and threaded with gold.

She has to admit, the sensation of finally lying down, of allowing her body to relax, is nothing short of incredible. A chuckle bubbles up from her throat. Living life on the edge indeed.

She gazes out of the window at the star-studded sky, then rolls onto her back, releasing a sigh as she looks up at the towering ceilings. Sleep, however, remains elusive.

A crystal chandelier hangs above her, its sparkling facets casting a myriad of dancing lights around the room, which is larger than the entire first floor of her townhouse. The room seems to close in on her and she pulls the blankets up to her chest.

She yearns for the familiarity of her own home, her own bed. But the thought of whoever is after her potentially harming her family sends a shiver down her spine. What is she going to do?!

Perhaps she's not cut out to be a therapist anymore? What direction is her life taking?

She even allowed Emerald to persuade her to go on that disastrous date, which nearly cost her life. Is this what it feels like to hit rock bottom?

Jessamae's mind begins to wander, contemplating how she'll navigate the upcoming three months of leave. The family centre, where she works, will inevitably need to hire another therapist to fill her shoes during her absence. However, she can't shake off the nagging worry that taking such a prolonged leave might jeopardize her job.

She closes her eyes, taking slow, measured breaths, each inhale and exhale counted in an attempt to alleviate the heavy stress burdening her heart. She decides to postpone dealing with this issue, adding it to the growing list of tomorrow's problems.

A mansion nestled by the seaside and a three-month hiatus? The price she had to pay was steep, almost costing her life, but still, she finds it hard to complain. But she's acutely aware of the more sinister elements that lurk in the shadows of the night, elements that should, by all accounts, fill her with terror. Dangerous elements.

Such as the lethal individual who sleeps just two doors down the hallway, in a house where the walls emit eerie creaks and the rooms seem to engulf you whole. Or Nomer, the assassin who is likely lurking somewhere out there, ready and willing to end her life at a moment's notice.

But strangely, these threats don't instill as much fear in her as she thought they would. She concludes that she must be experiencing some form of disassociation, a side effect of the recent stress she's been under.

Her eyes start to droop, but Hanzo's words echo seductively in her ear, forcing them to flutter back open. The pulsating ache between her legs serves as a stark reminder that yes, she has indeed been deceiving herself.

She does desire him, but acknowledging that would only lead her down a path of psychological ruin, or potentially something even worse. It's abundantly clear that nothing beneficial can come from this. They're too different; like water and oil, their incompatibility is evident. Denial is good. Denial is safe. Even the prospect of death seems safer than admitting the truth.

The ghostly sensation of his fingers tracing her skin sends a hum through her body, and the tingling sensation begins anew. She yearns to quench the burning desire within her. She throws off the covers, hoping the cool air will help to quell the heat coursing through her veins. She lifts her legs, bends her knees, and allows her legs to part, welcoming the cool air's bite.

The masculine scent of him, still lingering on his shirt, hits her nostrils, and the inner walls of her center clench unexpectedly.

Mmm. So intoxicating.

She pants breathlessly, her hands pressed into the mattress below, palms sweating as a warm liquid begins to trickle down her thighs. She pleads for relief. Lord almighty. She thinks she might need an exorcism.

Jessamae allows her fingers to slip beneath the silky fabric of the shirt, gliding downwards to cup the heated mound of her s*x, already slick with desire. Her fingers find the spots on her inner thighs where he had squeezed only minutes before, and a wave of pleasure courses through her, causing her toes to curl. Yet, the fire within her does not diminish. Perhaps a cold shower might be necessary?

Hanzo's handsome face materializes in her mind, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a slight dimple appearing above his beauty mark.

"I'm gonna f**k you, Jessy. Until I'm satiated and tired of your enticing pussy."

"Damn it," she hisses out loud. "Don't do this to yourself. If you fall, you might not ever recover."

But her fingers continue their downward journey, and in her mind, he is instantly there beside her, his breath tantalizingly close, his enticing words resonating in her heart. She gasps as a rush of endorphins floods her system.

A knock at the door interrupts her, and she quickly pulls her hands to her sides, her body frozen with arousal, her heart pounding in her chest. Damn it. Someone's here.

When the door handle turns without waiting for her response, she knows exactly who's on the other side.

"Hey, are you awake?"

"Just give me a second!"

She hastily throws the blanket over her body as Hanzo saunters into the room, carrying a tray of food. She releases a strained sigh. As the saying goes, speak of the devil and he shall appear.