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* * *
It’s 1:00
a.m. and I’m sitting on my bed, resting against the headboard. With a shaky hand, I pour myself another scotch. I’ve drank most of the bottle trying to take the edge off of my sadness.
I feel more alone than ever.
My mind is a swimming pool of memories… every one of her.
I get a vision of her talking and flicking her long, golden hair over her shoulder. Her big blue eyes. The way she looked up at me when we made love. The way she laughs. The way she feels. Her voice. Her smile.
She’s gone.
You did the right thing.
But did I? Because it sure doesn’t feel like it. Being in her arms over the last weekend has only shown me how empty my life really is.
Ferrara.
My name, my entitlement… my prison.
* * *
I feel soft skin against my back, and a gentle dusting of lips on my shoulder.
I smile in my sleep. Olivia.
Her hand reaches around and takes my cock. She gives it a long, slow stroke. My eyes flicker. “Hmm.”
She kisses my shoulder again and rolls me onto my back. I’m having trouble waking.
The scotch.
“Hmm,” I moan again as my legs open to allow her access. She strokes me, harder this time, and my balls contract. My back arches off the bed. Mmm, this feels good.
She softly kisses my shoulder as she works me, and my eyes flutter. Olivia.
My body begins to quiver with need, and I spread my legs to touch the mattress as I feel the blood rush to my cock.
Yes… yes.
The bed begins to rock from her hard strokes.
God, yes.
I need to fuck.
“Ti piace il mio uomo?” she whispers.
Italian.
My eyes snap open at the sound of her voice.
“Sophia?” Fuck! I forgot she has a key. I push her off me in disgust.
“Cosa c’è di sbagliato, Enrico?” Translation: what is wrong Enrico?
“What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” I growl as I jump up, furious. “Do not touch me. Do you hear me?”
