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I come hard around him, and Alessio isn’t far behind. I’m still convulsing around him when he pulls out, stroking his dick as his head falls back and he milks out his release. His warmth spills across my skin, soaking into me, and I reach down and smear it with my fingers. He watches, eyes flaring with heated possession. His dick is still hard. I think he might push back inside of me, and I want him to, but he doesn’t.
The room goes cold as he drags himself from the bed, picking up his clothes on his way into the bathroom. This time, when he returns, his eyes move over my come-soaked skin. I think he likes what he sees. He likes it too much to clean it up himself. He hands me the cloth instead, fingers brushing against mine. And then, as quietly as he came, he disappears again.
The next week passes in a consistent pattern. Every night, Alessio comes to my room, fucks me, and leaves. Oddly enough, this has become our only interaction. At breakfast, he avoids eye contact and focuses on Nino instead, asking him questions to break up the silence.
Every day, I find myself wondering if I imagined the night before. If I couldn’t still smell him on my sheets, I would think I had. He’s like a switch. Completely shut off during the day, and at night, he comes alive. The intensity between us only gets hotter, and I find that I can hardly lie in stillness waiting for the sound of him entering my bedroom. I’m desperate for more, but he only gives me enough to get my fix, and then he leaves me cold. I’ve turned into an anxious mess. My thoughts are constantly at war, and my heart is battered more than I’d care to admit.
These feelings in me are too big to be contained. Too big for words. I’m afraid at some point he’s going to see it, and then he’s going to remind me who he is. At times, I’m so certain he can’t possibly feel anything when he refuses to even look at me. But at night, when he touches me, I can’t deny the power of our connection. If he didn’t feel anything, why does he kiss me like he can’t live without it? Why does he worship my body, or linger for just a moment longer with every visit? I want to believe there’s something real, something tangible, but at the same time, reality is knocking on the door.
Gwen has been by the house almost every day this week. I don’t know why she feels the sudden need to lurk so often, but it’s obvious her suspicion of me is growing. I’ve noticed the way she looks at me. The way she studies my features with a familiarity that produces a feeling of dread deep in my gut. Sometimes, I think I’m being paranoid, and then there are moments like today when I noticed her holding her phone as if she were taking a photo of Nino. Except, it looked like it was pointed straight at me. Panic ripples through me every time I think about it. I don’t know who Gwen really is, but is it possible she could find out more about me?
As I’m considering it, my door creaks open and then shuts. Alessio finds his way to me in the dim light, already unbuttoning his shirt. He left me waiting for so long, I wasn’t certain he would even come tonight.
I reach over and turn on the lamp, and he freezes, his eyes locking with mine. It surprises me to see vulnerability there, like the darkness was his shield, and I just stripped it away. I don’t know what reason a man like him would have to be vulnerable, but I suspect it has everything to do with keeping his emotions at a baseline.
I reach for my phone and write a note for him. I’m on my period.
His brows furrow, and it seems like this is a complication he never even considered. How couldn’t he have? He’s never once used any kind of protection with me, and even though he hasn’t come inside me, I have to admit I was slightly panicked over that small chance regardless. I assumed he would be too. The fact that he hasn’t considered it leaves me even more confused. Now, he doesn’t look like he knows what to do.
I set the phone back onto the nightstand and pull myself out of bed. When I walk toward him, he looks down at me hesitantly. I reach for his hand, and his arm is stiff, but he allows me to lead him to the chair next to the bed. Before he can sit, I stroke the bulge in his trousers, and his eyes fall shut. He relaxes beneath my touch, and I unzip his pants, tugging his briefs down to reveal his cock. When I slide my palm over his hot skin, his eyes open half-mast, staring into mine.
