Brushing my teeth, I caught a glimpse of my expression in the mirror. There was a soft and tender look in my eyes, and I flinched. No. Fuck no. This wasn’t okay. I couldn’t be sweet and giggly and soft when I thought about Antonio Moretti. I slept with whomever I wanted, and I didn’t stick around. I didn’t get involved. That was who I was. This ridiculous flirtation with Antonio Moretti was going to have to end. I’d avoided going to the club since the day I’d ended up in his dungeon, but that was probably why I was dangerously sweet on him. There was something about sex when you gave up control. It made you soft and pliable. I just needed to scrub Antonio out of my head and my heart by duplicating that experience with one of the tops at the club. Enzo, if he had got over whatever was ailing him the last time I was at Casanova. If not Enzo, then someone else. That evening, I showered, dressed with care in a dress that hugged every curve of my body, and I caught a water taxi to the club.
