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12
Michael
I pace the length of the conference room in my office above Venom. How dare she question me about my actions? What right does she have to make me feel sorry about what I did? I will not regret it. She deserves it. She is mine to do with as I want, after all. I will do what I want to her, and she’ll damn well take it.
After that scene last night Beauty, had returned to my room, picked up her clothes, then stomped out. I had almost called out to her and told her to stay, but thankfully, for once, my brain had won the war over my dick… Okay, not really. My cock had wept to see her go, and I hadn’t stopped myself from watching the sway of her butt, or the flow of her hair down her back as she had marched out without a word.
I had gotten dressed, then decided to get the hell out of there. I hadn’t wanted to spend the night in my own house. If I had, nothing would have prevented me from going to her room, throwing her down on the bed, and rutting into her… That’s the only word for the intensity with which I want to fuck her. Only, I can’t, because of some stupid notion that I won’t allow her to come. Nor myself, for reasons I cannot begin to articulate.
F-u-c-k! I grab my hair and tug, and the wound at my temple protests. The wound thatsheinflicted on me. The almost healed one on my chest itches and I curl my fingers at my side to stop myself from worrying it. I had spent the night in the apartment adjacent to my office, which I have used in the past when work was so intense that I didn’t have the time to make it back home.
Not that it helped my disposition, to be honest… Or my shaft, which still tents my pants. I glare at my crotch.Get a fucking life, you complete cock.I frown.Great, now I am talking to my dick.Something I would never have done in the past. But then, I never had her to contend with in the past either. This is what she does to me. Ties me up in knots, then twists, just to ensure that I realize how much of a mess my life has become since I chanced upon her.
The door to my office opens and Sebastian saunters in.
"Whatever happened to knocking?" I scowl.
"Whatever happened to your demeanor?" He smirks. "Not that you’d ever be caught dead in a good mood, but this," he looks me up and down, "your frame of mind leaves much to be desired, brother."
"What-fucking-ever," I grunt.
He laughs, "Very eloquent of you, Mika. I take it things are not going well on the home front?"
You can say that again.Clearly, I have backed myself up into a corner, where I won’t let myself come and I will not allow her to come either. The result is that not only am I sporting a raging erection since I walked out of my house but I also have no way of alleviating it. No way, am I going to back down from my position of not allowing her to orgasm. But why is it that I am unable to satisfy myself either? Is it out of some sense of solidarity with her? Which, considering I am the one who decided to leave her unsatisfied—is poetic justice. Or is it because I want to punish myself…?
Not that I regret one bit that I took her in the first place. Or that I forced her to marry me. Or that I marked her in a way that I knew would upset her. Make her feel a little bit of what I had gone through when I had realized that she had left me.
Only she returned.
After you pretended you were dead.
And then you had to go screw it up again. Why the hell can’t I forgive her for what she did? Why can’t I be more normal with her? And that would bore her. My Beauty has a soul as dark as mine, her tastes as perverted as mine. Her need for the extremes that turn me on were clear to me from the first time I looked into her eyes. It had thrilled me as much as it had frightened me.
And in a way, I have been running from facing those thoughts ever since. It had stopped me from sharing all of myself with her… For if I do that, there will be no turning back. I’ll be lost to her. I’ll be vulnerable in a way that I have never been before. Hell, I am already vulnerable to her. If anything were to happen to her… If I lost her again, I wouldn’t be able to take it. It’s something I need to figure out how to manage… Just as I need to come up with a solution for the problems that have been plaguing the Cosa Nostra.
"Michael?" Seb frowns, "I asked you a question."
I glance at him. "I heard you," I growl, "doesn’t mean I have to answer you."
"But you have to answer to us." The door opens wider to admit Massimo, followed by Christian and Xander. Adrian brings up the rear, as Antonio shuts the door behind him.
"Figlio di puttana."The day hasn’t even started and I wish it were over already. Since when had I become so disinterested in work? The one solace that has kept me going all these years, the only focus of my life so far, the one thing that I value more than anything else, the key to underwriting my future… That’s what my role as Capo has been to me so far… And now…? I am not so sure.
I stalk toward the bar, grab a fresh bottle of Macallan. I twist open the top, pour out a generous amount in a glass, then toss it back. The liquid burns its way down my gullet, and I slam the glass back on the counter.
"Replacing coffee with whiskey, are we?" Massimo drawls. "Didn’t take you for a quitter,fratellone."
"Quitter?" I pivot and level a glare at him. "What do you mean?"
"You’re here weeping into your whiskey, while she is there weeping into her pillow, no doubt."
"Weeping?" I scowl. "Who’s weeping? Not me, and certainly not her. I promise you, she’s undoubtedly figuring out yet another way to bring me down."
"Have you spoken to her yet?" Xander walks over to the coffee station in the corner of the office. He tops up the coffee beans in the machine before switching on the grinder. Once the coffee is ground he taps the handle, tamps down on the coffee powder, before scraping off the excess coffee. He inserts the handle in the brew head and proceeds to extract the espresso. He places the cup on a saucer, then reaches into the jar next to it to and takes out a biscotti that he places on the saucer. He tops off a glass with water, then places it all on a tray. He turns and walks over to the couch, "Sit,fratellone," He gestures to the settee.
I walk over, seat myself, and he places the tray in front of me.
"Drink." He stabs a finger at the espresso, and I arch an eyebrow at him.
