ATONEMENT | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

"Ah, fuck," Josh cursed, slipping an arm over my shoulder. "Don't cry, Alexa."

"Who wants to promenade by themselves?" I wiped bogus tears from under my eyes. "Or eat lunch alone while the ladies to the right express mirth over bottled wine and Caesar salads."

"You don't have to eat lunch alone. Look, I am ravenous." Opening the passenger side door, he stepped out, and I jumped on the bandwagon, locking the Bentley door behind us. "Let's go and buy you some lingerie, and then we can eat al fresco at the Dorchester Rooftop. Their oyster buckwheat?" He puckered a chef's kiss. "Divine."

I felt nauseous just thinking about oyster consumption. "Great." We walked side by side down the busy street. Puritanical spendthrifts disrelished Josh's marijuana scent while he smoked. If he noticed their displeasure, he didn't show it. He made a point of checking out their arses as their hips swayed, though. "Behave," I scolded lightly. "You might be easy on the eye, Josh, but extreme drooling? It's unattractive."

Looking blankly inscrutable, he caught me by the elbow. "Those tears dried up pretty quickly."

I pushed the lump down my throat. "I know, right?"

"Did you fake-cry?" he asked with an accusatory point of the finger. "I'm on to you, Alexa."

"What? Moi?" With feigned inability, I gestured to myself. "I would never."

"You fucking wench," he berated, and perambulating busy bodies shortened their retail experience to comprehend the dramatised controversy. "You lied to me. I bet you're not even riding the rag, huh?"

"Oh, God." I face-palmed. "I was speaking figuratively, Josh. Not literally." My cheeks were bright red in mortification. "It's not that time of the month," I told the random couple to our right. "He's recently deinstitutionalised."

"I was not institutionalised," he said angrily, and I started to cry real, happy tears. "She wants to make fun of me." Dragging my chortling ass to the nearest shop, he swung the door open, and the bell above chimed. "We'll soon see who's laughing when I throw Donaldo in her face."

"Who?" I stumbled into the abyss of lustre black walls, diamanté encrusted furnishings and fuchsia display cabinets. Lubricants, condoms, aphrodisiacs and stimulants hoarded the end bay shelving. Hooked on the room-length rail: Babydolls, Camis, Corsets, Basques and Waspies. Tiles sparkled. Chandeliers scintillated. Mannequins modelled bondage. "This is not Victoria's Secret."

"Alexa requires nymphomation," he yelled unnecessarily, and the assistant smiled from behind the cash register. "Where's your sex toys?"

I died. "I am not staying here—"

"Oh, but you are." His hands falling to my shoulders, he forced me to walk down the well-stocked aisle. "Welcome to the wild side," he read the store's logo. "Sensational play." Checking the weight of a two-ended feather tickler, he stabbed the delicate plume in my face, irritating the tip of my nose. "How did that make you feel?"

This man's certifiable. "Like I wanted to sneeze." I price-checked the nipple tassels out of boredom. "I like this one." Elevating the rose gold hanger, I admired the floor-length maxi robe. "What do you think?"

"Great!" Snatching the fine silk from my covetous hands, he flung it onto a random stand. "If you want to look like Morticia Addams."

I rolled my eyes.

"So, what's your preference?" He picked up what I thought resembled a flashlight and wielded the box above his head. "What does this do?"

"Fleshlight," said the pixie-haired brunette. "It's a male masturbator to help with stamina."