Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Ugh.
All right, the “not thinking about it” part was still a work in progress.
Chapter 12
Raffaele Ferrara sat at the head of the conference table, his face impassive and cold, betraying nothing of the frustration brimming under his skin.
Few could probably guess that he wasn’t paying any attention to the meeting, but it was small comfort.
“…as you see, Mr. Ferrara, everything is in order. The deal will be beneficial to both of our companies…”
The manager of Typhoon Enterprises was still saying something, but Raffaele could barely hear what the man was saying, the low hum of arousal and frustration buzzing beneath his skin making it difficult to focus.
Fuck, this was… unacceptable. How had he allowed the situation to come to this?
It should have never come to this.
He’d always been so careful.
For a reason.
One of Raffaele’s earliest memories was that of his grandmother. Nonna Francesca had been a bold, strong woman with sharp black eyes on her handsome, aging face. He remembered her smiling wryly as she joked about how men in the Ferrara family were blessed with “high drive.” Then she and Aunt Barbara would exchange a knowing look and laugh about it, as if sharing an inside joke. Raffaele’s mother had never cracked a smile if she was present.
It would be years before he was old enough to understand why.
Men in the Ferrara family really were blessed with a high sex drive. Or more like, cursed with it.
Raffaele’s father, Marco, unashamedly loved sex, and his wife didn’t satisfy his sexual appetites. Last time Raffaele saw his father, Marco had had two women in his bed—women who weren’t his wife. It was no surprise, of course. It was one of the reasons he had moved to America—he couldn’t stay in Italy anymore without punching his father and snapping at his mother to grow a spine and finally leave the man who didn’t respect her in the least. Obviously there were other reasons. More important reasons. But Marco’s shameless infidelity and the depressing atmosphere at home had definitely contributed to his decision.
The aggravating part was, Raffaele felt like a hypocrite for judging his father. He had never gone without frequent, regular sex since his early teenage years. But when he’d left Italy, he had been just eighteen. He’d thought his high libido was a natural thing for a young man in his late teens, that he couldn’t possibly have his father’s… affliction.
As a grown man of thirty-two, Raffaele could only shake his head at his eighteen-year-old self’s naïveté.
His libido hadn’t diminished with age. If anything, it had grown. He couldn’t properly focus on work if he hadn’t gotten laid in a few days. It lessened his efficiency. Distracted him. In that way, he was very much his father’s son.
Raffaele honestly wasn’t sure if the men in his family had some kind of hypersexuality disorder or if they just had a very high sex drive. The three doctors that he’d consulted had completely different opinions. One of them saw no issue with his sex drive and confirmed that there were some studies that proved that a high sex drive really was inherited. The second doctor had seen “some cause for concern” and suggested drugs to reduce his libido. The third had tried to psychoanalyze him—it went without saying that Raffaele had walked out.
In any case, regardless of whether it was normal or not, the end result was the same. That was why Raffaele didn’t do relationships: he didn’t want to reduce any woman to the depressed mess his mother had become. After his last attempt at a relationship a decade ago, he had no delusions. He didn’t trust himself to be a better partner than Marco was.
But unlike his father, Raffaele didn’t like one-night stands or prostitutes. He didn’t like having sex with women he didn’t know. Although he always used condoms, he still liked the certainty that he wasn’t in danger of catching STDs. Which presented something of a problem, given his avoidance of relationships and refusal to pay for sex.
The “booty calls,” as his insolent PA called them, were a necessity: they were women he’d known for a while who wanted the same thing he did—frequent sex with a skilled partner and nothing more. It was honest and mutually beneficial. It was a good way to deal with his libido without it ever becoming a serious problem. It was a good solution. Or rather, it had been.
He didn’t want to call one of those women now.
He wanted his assistant—his very male assistant—to get on his knees and suck his cock.
The cock in question twitched in his pants, and Raffaele gritted his teeth, beyond aggravated.
It was his own damn fault. He should have never bullied Nate into returning to work for him. He should have left him alone. But he was a creature of habit. He’d grown… used to Nate and his insolent remarks and the way the boy could almost read his thoughts and wishes before Raffaele even said them aloud. He had wanted him back, because the sight of Connor and Abel at Nate’s desk had only irritated him. So he had wanted Nate back and he had gotten him back, because he always got what he wanted. In that way he was also his father’s son.