Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father

Chapter 266

“What!” I shriek, shocked, a noise that makes Kent laugh.

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“Kent!” I hiss in a whisper, remembering that this is apparently a secret and that I should be quiet, “put me down! I need my pants!”

“No, you don’t,” he replies, laughing a little with derision as he climbs. “Those ugly shorts – where did you get those anyway?”

“They’re comfortable!” I protest.

Kent shocks me then by delivering a punishing little smack on my ass, making me yelp. He laughs again and I can feel his head moving against my hip, shaking from side to side in frustration. “All the resources in the world,” he mutters, “and you order polyester pajamas – honestly Fay-”

“They’re cute!” I retort, shocked and a little offended as he continues to carry me up the steps slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“They’re horrible,” he mutters, pushing open a door and passing through it. As Kent turns to close the door behind him, I look around and am mildly surprised to see that we’re in his bedroom. “I’m going to put those clothes in the incinerator first thing in the morning,” Kent informs me, pulling me off his

Chapter 266

and lowering me down to my place in his

narrowing my eyes at him. A little smile grows on my face when I see him pause, looking over my naked body. “If you burn my clothes, what

and looking hungrily down at me. “Ever again, if I have anything to

when I see him smile. “I’ll get cold,” I

sheets and tuck me into them, his hands lingering unnecessarily long on my ass as he does. Then, that done, Kent picks a book up from the nightstand my nightstand, apparently, and a book I

pulls the closet door open and disappears inside, I cock my head, considering…does Kent Lippert have pajamas?

they look like?

title that reads Control and Manipulation. I flip it open, wondering if Kent just tossed me the first book he found to keep me occupied, or if he picked

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of the closet again wearing nothing but his underwear. I can’t help the way my eyes follow him as he crosses the room, as I admire his well–muscled form, his eight–pack abs,

as he moves to his side of the bed, picking up his alarm clock. “Kent?”

to me as he

work out?

his head to me, baffled, and I grin. I like him like this – when I can see the always–controlled Kent thrown off by something I say