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If she’s taking stock of me, trying to find something to love, then she’s wasting her time. She won’t find anything unless she looks in my wallet.
I trace the line of her spine, the little grooves that rise and fall along her back.
“Have you?”
“I thought so,” she admits. “Once.”
I can’t deny the dark coil of jealousy that tightens around my thoughts, that Contessa would give any part of herself—mind or body—to someone else.
“What happened?”
“I found out who he really was.”
“Which was?”
She sighs sleepily, burying her face against my chest.
“Just some monster,” she mumbles.
…Maybe the girl attracts a type.
It’s almost enough to make me feel bad for her.
Her easy breaths fill the room. My hand tightens in her hair, holding her to my body. I’ve never been one for cuddling, but it feels right to have her next to me, naked and vulnerable, pressed a little too close.
There is something inescapable between us now, a chain that can’t be broken. No matter what happens, I will always have this piece of her. And she gave it to me.
If he’d ever let it past his security, I’d send old Gio a fruit basket.
But I’d take a bite out of each one of them first.
15
Contessa
It’s strange that there isn’t a word for not-a-virgin. All the ones that come to mind feel ugly or judgmental. Experienced doesn’t fit well in my case. At least, not yet. The longer I try to find one, the more upsetting it is that I can’t. I don’t need a label, but it would be nice to have the option.
Lying in bed, I get the sense that I have woken up late. Last night runs behind my eyelids like a reel of film playing over and over. I try to capture that feeling again, but nothing satisfies as much as the real thing. I try to figure out my new, mysterious title. There is only one simple word I can come up with that feels right—his.
Salvatore is gone by the time I get up, but I find painkillers and water left on the nightstand. I don’t take them. The ache left behind isn’t something I really want to chase off. It feels right, this constant reminder of him, even if it hurts.
The world hasn’t turned upside down.
For better or worse, I don’t feel fundamentally changed. I don’t feel like I’ve lost anything, except a source of embarrassment. My room is the same, my morning routine still the old familiar process. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, only I would know the truth. I clench softly between my legs, feeling that flutter of soreness where he was. The pain is like a secret Salvatore has left inside, just for me.
I stare at my own face, trying to see myself the way my father would see me now.
Damaged. I study my expression and feel a satisfying nothing. Even in the calm morning light, I don’t regret it.
I trail my hand down the flat slope of my belly. A surge of warmth tingles between my legs at the thought of him taking root inside me. With just a few heated words, Salvatore has flicked a switch inside of my body, has claimed me as his—his property, his vessel, to be used how he sees fit.
This tight, empty belly my father worked so hard to protect might swell with a Mori baby.
If Salvatore hadn’t been so careful with me, so steady and protective, maybe I could feel the terror that thought deserves. Instead, I just feel his hands on me again, his body over mine, as if under him is somewhere I could finally belong.
I snatch my hand away before I can delve too deep into the thought. All I’ve ever wanted was freedom. I chased it my whole life. I can’t lose sight of that now just because Salvatore has an incredibly persuasive cock and commanding voice.
I try to distract myself. For the first time since owning them, I browse through the clothes Salvatore gave me that first day. So many black dresses and skirts. I don’t want it to look like I’m attending a funeral. I’m not in mourning. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to look as though I belong next to him, to try out the role just for a little while.
