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I’ve never been the kind to make love but I want to make love toGreta.
I want to be mushy with her and fuck, does that sound pathetic.
But she’s the only one who’ll witness that side of me.
A mobster has to be hard but even a mobster needs that window that lets the light in.
Greta’s my window. The one thing I look forward to every damn day. If anything happened to her, I don’t know what I’d do. It would drive me crazy. I would lose it. Once, I witnessed a father losing control over his kid’s stroller.
The stroller rolled down a cliff about to end up on the street and I still remember the panic stricken, pained look on the father’s face before he got a hold of it again. His agony was palpable, excruciating and that’s how I’d feel if anything happened to Greta.
If only I knew how to show her.
It’s easier said than done because violence is the language I speak and ice runs in my veins. I was formed in shadows and I worship the dark. But I worship Greta more...
Rocking into Greta once again, I moan and bury my face in her hair. She shifts a little but doesn’t wake up and my palm hurts from how bad it needs to cup her breast. Feel its plump heaviness in my hand and I bet her tits get all tingly and warm from even the slightest stimulation.
Images of how responsive she’ll be dance behind my eyes and they tug at my restraint and I loom over Greta, searching for her face. She’s so peaceful like this, so willing...so ready for my usage and I lower my mouth, flicking my tongue out and lick the seam of her parted lips.
The taste bursts like a drug in my system and my lids flutter.
I crave my stepsister worse than a fiend.
“Stepbrother loves you,” I whisper in the dark and she moans in response. I stroke her high cheekbone. “But I’m going to need you to love me back.”
A smile crosses her face in her sleep and I hold my breath, waiting for her eyes to flash but they don’t. Giving her one last caress, I get up and forcefully tear myself away from her and leave.
CHAPTER FIVE
Greta
Sipping on my homemade lemonade, I glance at the clock above the stove. My piano lesson should’ve started twenty minutes ago but my teacher isn’t here yet. Usually, she’s never late and I shift, starting to feel restless.
Waking up this morning, I felt so ready to take on the day. I had the best sleep of my life and was prepared to face any challenge. Today is the day when I’m sorting that money situation out. I just need to figure out a way to get that cash fast and without raising any suspicions in Dacre.
Putting the glass down when I hear the doorbell ring. I make sure that I look presentable before opening the door without bothering to check who it is first. And I’m surprised to say the least.
There’s a man I’ve never met before.
His hair is artistically long, a denim vest covering his hoodie and he’s chewing gum. He looks both disheveled and put together like he stole the look from a fashion ad for vagabonds.
Frowning I murmur, “Who are you?”
Chomping the gum in a way that makes him resemble a cow, he replies, “Blanca sent me. She got the flu this morning and thought you wouldn’t mind.” The guy winks at me in a way that makes me want to grimace. “Don’t worry. I’m her best student. You’re in safe hands.”
I pinch my lip and hesitate. Dacre won’t like it if I invite some stranger inside but the guy looks about as dangerous as I do. “I don’t know...,” I begin, scowling when I’m brushed to the side and the stranger pushes himself into the foyer.
Letting out a low whistle, he looks around. “Some place you got...,” he strokes a hand down the wall, petting the baby blue wallpaper like he’s expecting it to purr. “Wouldn’t mind living in a place like this myself one day.” He fires a wide grin. “Shall we?”
Pondering, I figure there’s no harm in giving it a try. The lesson’s only one hour long anyway and I could always ask him to leave if I see something I don’t like.
“Follow me,” I say in a cool voice and he lets out a sharp laugh, pretending to get the chills and I roll my eyes. What a clown. But whatever, if he really is as good as he says he is then I won’t decline an opportunity to polish up on my skills.
Sitting down on the stool I tense up when he sits next to me. Does he really have to be that close? I scooch to the side, insisting on keeping space between us. Swiping the sheet music until I get to Chopin, I take a deep breath and begin.
I’ve been having issues with this piece for ages and sometimes it doesn’t even feel like I’m making any progress. It frustrates and embarrasses me. I always imagine Dacre picking up on my little mistakes whenever I play it.
Not that Dacre is a huge fan of classical music. I’ve only heard music play from his office a few times and then it was the kind that made my eardrums burst.
