If I needed sex, I got it. No attachments, no promises of forever, no confusion. I’d convinced myself I was better off that way. The idea of a happy family, of a normal life, and love was something I’d put in the same category as Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.
It didn’t exist.
Love was a pretty lie people convinced themselves of to excuse their need for simpler things like compassion, sex, and friendship. Saying you’re in love with someone sounded better than saying I want to fuck that person’s throat for a few months and then move on.
Yet now, I saw my brothers falling in love with women who loved them back. I saw joy in my brothers’ eyes. Real joy, something that couldn’t be faked. I watched Cas heal thanks to Meka’s love.
Watched Raz soften up some thanks to Monique’s love. Even watched Leo become someone I barely recognized because of Toya’s love. I never saw Stefano and Enzo DeLuca smile unless the women they loved were with them.
The people around me were proof that love was real. And it didn’t only destroy lives. It could heal, too. It could bring joy. But only if that love was reciprocated. And that was the main part of the equation.
The person you loved had to love you back.Willingly. I was afraid of what falling for Juliet With Curves could do to me. She could either turn me into my father or my brothers. Loving her could either destroy me or heal me.
“Romeo, why have you gone quiet on me?” Juliet whispered. “Where did you wander off to in your mind?”
I wanted to tell her. I wanted to share every part of me with this woman. But I couldn’t. Not yet. For now, I had to keep our relationship superficial. I had to treat her as a potential threat.
I had to guard myself against her, even as my heart screamed to let her in. I stared at her panties again, reading the words stitched across them.
This Pussy Belongs To Romeo.
Yes, it did. And I couldn’t wait until it was in my possession.
“Take them off,” I ordered, wanting a glimpse of what was mine.
She didn’t move at first. Just sat there, kneeling on the bed, shirt bunched at her waist, legs parted. I truly wished I could see her face, read her expression. What was going on in that brilliant mind of hers?
I imagined her eyes fixed on me as she considered whether she wanted to give in or not. For a second, I thought she’d disobey. Thought she’d push back, challenge me, make me work for it.
Then softly, almost sweetly, she whispered, “Yes, sir.”
Desire struck me almost violently. My stomach muscles tightened. Pulse pounded. My cock twitched, wetting the sheet with precum. And then, instead of reaching for her panties, she surprised me.
Fingers clutching the hem of her shirt, she slowly lifted it over her head. The fabric dragged across her hardened nipples as she removed it. Inch by inch, more of her brown skin came into view until her breasts were finally bare before me.
I swear, I’d never seen a sexier woman. My attention locked onto the silver ring piercing her right nipple. Dangling from it was a small silverR. My initial.
This. Fucking. Woman.
For the sake of my sanity, I told myself that R could stand for many things.
Rome. Regret.Ruin.
All things tied to me, tied to her, tied to this moment. I hoped I didn’t come to regret this. I hoped she wouldn’t ruin things by being a threat to me or those close to me. As I watched her like a hawk, she reached for her laptop and lifted it carefully before turning away from the bed.
The camera jostled, giving me a shaky, perfect view of her breasts, the R charm swinging with every step she took. Where was she going? Was she switching rooms? She moved across the room and set the laptop down on a dresser.
Breasts still front and center, she typed something on her keyboard. The camera angle shifted, and suddenly I had a full-screen view of her body, head to toe. She stepped back so I could see all of her.
And fuck...
The sight of her body nearly ruined me. Her form was a work of art. From her full breasts that I yearned to cup, to tease, to lick. To the tempting curve of her hips that I wanted to trail kisses over.
And then there were her thick thighs that I couldn’t wait to have pressed against my face as I feasted on her pussy. Her hourglassframe had me hypnotized. I’d seen a lot of beautiful women in my life, but none of them looked like this.
None of them made me feel like this. She was temptation made flesh. A goddess deserving of a throne. And she was slowly turning me into a poet. Shakespeare had nothing on me. Moving slowly, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties.
I watched her lean forward slightly while dragging them down her body, inch by agonizing inch. The fabric slid over her hips... lower over those thick thighs... until they pooled at her ankles.
