“That sounds great, Emily,” he says, not even looking at me. He works his hand loose and strays close to my center and then, teasingly, lifts his hand away to reach for a piece of garlic bread. He bites into it, licking the fingers that were just inches from my p***y. “Delicious. Really, really delicious.”
I sit back, annoyed at being flustered. I thought I had the upper hand, what with the whole War of the Serving Dish, but now I feel oddly defeated. I think about grabbing his d**k under the table, but somehow I don’t think it’d have the same effect. He’d probably like that.
What’s worse, he’s still not looking at me. It’s like I don’t exist.
Typical f*****g Carlo. Human one minute, sociopath the next.
After dinner, I leave the mansion and head out to the club. When I get there, I’m g
