Page 40 of Tempting Tessa

My face flames, thinking about the small black package I shoved under the cushion. “I don’t need any more of his ‘gifts.’”

“Well, too late, because delivery boy number two is on his way up.” She grins wickedly. “Maybe this one will be even cuter than the last one.”

“I swear to god, if you sexually harass another delivery person⁠—”

A knock cuts me off. Nat squeals like a teenager and races to the door, yanking it open before I can stop her.

Instead of a person, there are just four large black shopping bags sitting in the hallway. No name, no logos, nothing to indicate where they came from or what’s inside.

“Ooooh, mysterious!” Nat grabs two of the bags, dragging them inside.

“Wait!” I try to stop her, but she’s already got them through the door. “What if they’re contaminated or something?”

Nat stops mid-stride and turns to me with the most epic eye roll I’ve ever seen. “With what? Anthrax? They’re shopping bags, girl.”

My curiosity is getting the better of me, even though I want to throw everything he sends straight into the trash.

Nat’s already ripping into the first bag, tossing tissue paper everywhere like a kid at Christmas. “Oh. My. God.” She pulls out what looks like silky fabric, her eyes widening. “Tessa, holy shit!”

She shakes out two matching robes—one deep purple, one black—both with what appears to be…I step closer. Those are my fucking initials, CGG, monogrammed in elegant silver script on the breast pocket.

“These are Olivia Damask robes,” Nat whispers, running her hands over the material like she’s touching a holy relic. “They’re like a grand each.”

“What the fuck,” I breathe, reaching out to touch the purple one despite myself. It’s the softest thing I’ve ever felt, like wearing a cloud.

Nat dives back into the bags, pulling out matching slides in the same colors, also monogrammed. “And these!” She holds up two coordinating lounge sets—silk pants and camisoles that look impossibly comfortable and expensive.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, watching as she continues to excavate the bags.

“Oh my god, this is literally a spa in a bag,” Nat’s voice rises with each new discovery. “La Mer face cream, Jo Malone bath oils, Diptyque candles...” She pulls out bottle after bottle, jar after jar. “This is the most expensive girls’ night kit I’ve ever seen. This face mask alone is like three hundred dollars.”

I’m speechless as she arranges everything on my coffee table—luxury creams, oils, masks, scrubs, even what looks like a jade roller and gua sha set. It’s a fortune in beauty products, all clearly selected with care.

“There’s a card,” Nat announces, pulling out a cream-colored envelope from the bottom of the last bag. She tears it open, her eyes scanning the contents before she actually gasps. “Oh, shit.”

Her face flushes as she reads, and I watch her press her thighs together. “What? What does it say?”

She bites her lip and starts fanning herself with the card. “Your stalker daddy has a way with words, I’ll give him that.”

She hands me the card, and I see the handwriting—bold, masculine strokes in dark ink.

Contessa,

Since you’re determined to ignore me, I thought I’d make sure you and Natalia enjoy your evening. Pamper that body I’m aching to touch again. When you’re lying in bed tonight with that purple hair spread across your pillow, remember how it felt when I filled your pussy so full you couldn’t breathe. Remember how you begged.

You can play hard to get all you want, but we both know how wet you get when you think of me. The little gift you’ve no doubt hidden under your couch cushion is to help you remember what you’re missing.

Enjoy your evening, stellina. I’ll be thinking of you.

- M

I snap the card shut, my face burning and my thighs pressing together involuntarily. My pussy is already slick, just from his fucking words on paper. I hate how easily he can do this to me.

“Holy shit, Tessa, are you okay? You look like you’re about to spontaneously combust.” Nat fans herself with her hand.

“You okay there?” Nat asks, smirking as she watches my face. “You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” I snap, crumpling the card in my fist. But I’m not fine. I’m soaking wet from just reading his words, my nipples hardening against my T-shirt as memories flood back—his weight on top of me, his cock stretching me open, the way he made me call him Daddy.