My Mafia Princess

Hot and Served

I am awaken this morning with a pounding headache. Not only do I have a damn raging hardon, but it feels like I am being pulled by the hair in every direction. That is what too much whiskey will kind of do to you. I found myself crawling into bed at some ungodly hour early this morning, only after consuming the better part of the bottle. After Cassandra left me hanging like that, I lost all desire to control myself.

And now I have my dad banging on my bedroom door just to annoy me further. God knows what his problem is so early in the morning, but I do have a fairly good idea.

"Christian, I want you downstairs in five minutes." I hear him hollering through the door.

"Make it fifteen," I try to sit up, but my pounding head makes me fall back down. "I want to have a shower."

"Make it twenty," he says but not until he gets out what I am sure he has been trying to hold in with no luck. "You have been in that damn strip club all night again."

"Sure, father, I will try my best to scrub it off."

"Watch your tone with me, Christian."

I slowly drag my sorry ass out of bed and make it on over to the shower. I turn the water on and slip off my black boxers before I step in. The water is running down my hair, all over my body. The droplets from the showerhead do nothing but accentuate my strong shoulder, glistening off my arms and trickle down my sculpted chest. I watch as it travels down over my rippled abs and further to my semi-erect length.

I grab a bath sponge and lather it with body wash. I rub it down over my chest...my shoulders...my neck, and then my back. I slide it over every inch of my toned body. I close my eyes and rinse the shampoo from my hair. Every second, every minute, I have Cassandra in my head. Just thinking about her sends me raging. I can feel the tension build-up; my semi-erect is now full and throbbing. A throbbing I would love to conquer her with.

Once I am done, I wrap a towel around me and head back to my room to get dressed. I throw on a pair of black denim and a dark button-up shirt. In precisely twenty minutes, I make my way downstairs.

I find my father down in the kitchen waiting for me.

"Do you care to tell me what happened last night?" He shoots straight of the bat; there is clear anger building as he furrows his brows.

"We were at the club drinking as we always do," I start to explain, but he does not seem the least bit phased. "Last night, I perhaps drank a bit more than I should have."

"And you did not plan to go elsewhere during the evening," he asks.

"No," I immediately answer him back, I know where this line of questioning is going, but I shall entertain it. I then try to explain further. "I did not have anything planned; otherwise, I would not have stayed there."

"You sure that you had no other plans?"

I know exactly what other plans he is referring to. I cannot believe that she phoned him. I am so tired of him telling me what I should do and whom I can spend my time with.

"I guess you had a call from Veronica?"

"What makes you say that?" he even dares to play stupid and pretend not to know.

"Because she claimed we had dinner arrangements, which we never did."

"What stopped you from leaving that damn club and take her out?"

"Because I was busy with something, and I was already making plans to go out."

"What?" He immediately snaps at my comment, the anger on his face is only increasing. "With one of those girls there?"