Bottom's Up To The Mafia Boss (MXM Novel)

Chapter Eleven: Temporary Insanity

Fen

It had been exactly five years since I had stepped into my role. It had been five years since I had last been touched, on purpose, by anyone. And in the span of two weeks, I had been touched eight times by the man named Warren Dale.

Eight times.

The first time was when I had willingly offered him my hand, then when I had shaken his hand to hire him and the second meeting was the second time his lips were on my skin. The other five contacts occurred in the span of one, very short hour, casual but meaningful, enough to make me feel shaken and discombobulated. He had touched me more times than I had him and every contact of his overly-warm skin had my inner thoughts in a wild, crazed frenzy.

I wanted him to touch me again.

I craved his touch like one would thirst for the last drop of water–I was a lost man in the middle of the desert and he was an oasis, just within reach, taunting me with uncharted temptations. It was excruciating, it was painfully arousing and I, who had never been touched purposely by anyone, not even by my own men and staff, was slowly dying inside.

And what in God's name possessed me to initiate feeling up his face today? I must have been going crazy from the lack of sleep, my curiosity making my hands rise on its accord to stroke his smooth, perfect face under the guise of soothing the injuries I had given to him. I had hit him and it wasn't the brutal blows that had excited me, it was the opportunity I had to touch him in return that stimulated me.

I was insane.

He was driving me insane.

I hated every single moment of it–or at least, that's what I told myself.

The breaking point was when he had ruffled my hair like I was some child, the warmth in his flinty eyes seeping in to fill the cold void within me, like the sunlight that had cascaded into his assigned room. I had never been so self-conscious of my appearance and expressions, but every look he gave me had me wavering on my feet, my self-control and discipline at stake.

It was my mistake.

I had given him too much leeway with me, and he had taken his liberties too far, with his off-hand remarks and casual touches, and I needed to stop this influx of rare, dangerous feelings rising to the surface.

I must show him exactly why I had become the boss–how cruel how I could be.

Would he so willingly touch me again when he sees the monster that I had so carefully preserved within me?

The closed door in front of me seemed to whisper at me to turn the knob and enter to watch him shower, but I stopped the wicked thoughts before I could get carried away. My impulses were getting the better of me, my imagination filling my mind until my pants became tight and restrictive.

Stop it.

Don't you think about it.

Starting from today, I will be setting my boundaries, lines that he could not cross over.

If he did, then I would have no choice but to kill him.