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But I can’t pretend. I want this. I crave it like a drug. It’s no good for me, and I know I have to find a way to live without it, but now is not that time.
Inside, I’m practically rejoicing, so happy to get what I want. There must be something wrong with me.
Whatever it is, the same thing is wrong with him. Maybe that’s what it’s all about. Two fucked-up souls finding each other.
He drives himself into me with a grunt, and I shudder with pleasure and relief at the connection. His hand never leaves my throat, his body crushing me against the wall. His teeth are gritted, and his breath is coming in short gasps that match mine.
Harder, harder. He takes my leg and wraps it around his hip, and now he can go deeper, and yes, yes, I love that. He’s hitting all the right spots, and I grind against him, rocking my hips, meeting his strokes. The friction against my clit is unbelievable, making me see stars, or maybe that’s the hand around my throat cutting off my air, but oh, God, yes, yes, it’s good, it’s right, it’s perfect.
He doesn’t say a word, only bares his teeth in a snarl, grunting every time our bodies slap together.
He’s a monster. He’s the devil. He’s the entire world, and he goes harder. Deeper. Pinning me in place and using me like I want to be used.
I lift my other leg, wrapping it around him, crossing my ankles, and locking them. I now bounce between him and the wall, riding him while he rides me. There’s no sound in the room but our panting and the wet, sloppy sounds of our bodies slapping together. I’m wetter with every stroke, coating his balls and his dick, and I ride him, yes, I ride him. I ride him as hard as I can while he fucks me, and my rasping breaths become a high-pitched whine that gets louder every time we crash together.
“Fuck… fuck…” he grunts in time with his strokes, and that’s all I hear besides the pounding of my heart and the whining I can’t hold back, and then oh God, yes, I’m coming. It hits me all at once, and I scream because, oh God, it’s so much, so much I can’t handle it. I’m going to fall apart, and I’m going to die from it.
He slams into me one last time before going stiff, roaring through clenched teeth, bathing my insides with his seed. All I can do is slump against him, still held in place by his body and his hand. The world is spinning, but the color returns to it when he loosens the pressure so I can breathe again. I shouldn’t like that as much as I do, should I? But it’s so fucking intense.
He finally stands up straight, and I take that as my cue to unlock my legs and unwrap them. He leaves me that way, slumped against the wall, fighting to regain my breath while he tucks himself back into his shorts, then zips his pants. He’s breathing like an animal, and there’s sweat shining on his face and neck, dampening his hair.
But he doesn’t say a word. He only stares at me in what looks like disgust and disappointment before walking away and closing the door softly.
I can’t bring myself to hate the way he dismisses me without a single word. Not when the aftershocks of pleasure still make me shiver.
Not when I’m this satisfied.
And maybe that’s the problem. The way I like it—love it. Maybe he’s finally clueing in and figuring out how easy it is for me to lure him into giving me what I need. If I can’t get it any other way, I don’t have a choice.
14
ENZO
I’ve been putting off going through my grandfather’s things. The task looms over me like a storm cloud I can’t escape.
At first, I couldn’t shake the idea of it being an invasion of his privacy. Even back in Italy, after the funeral, there was no avoiding the sense of searching through things I had no right to look at. Like I was a sneak, a thief. That sort of thinking is childish, and I’m not proud of it, but there was no helping it.
It was cover for what was truly going on in my head. I had already stepped into his shoes, somewhat, at least. I had returned to the house as the owner, the head of the family. That was already enough for me to handle all at once—more than enough. Overwhelming, that feeling of suddenly being called upon to do more than I ever had. To be more than I had ever been. One minute, I was standing in front of a minister, reciting my marriage vows. Then everything changed. I still haven’t gotten myself used to the idea.
I have to wonder how long it will be before I do.
Looking through his books, his calendars, his papers… It would mean admitting this was real and forever. That he was gone. That he had no use for any of it anymore.
I can’t leave it sitting forever. I need to get myself up to speed—what was he doing, who did he make arrangements with? What is our financial situation? It isn’t enough for me to simply know we are in good shape. I need specifics. While I would hardly call myself a micromanager, I may need to be. It will all come down to what I find in the books.
And if there’s anything I don’t need, I’ll burn it. I think he would understand. I don’t want endless reminders of him sitting around, waiting to surprise me at the worst possible time, which it seems is always when things like that happen to pop up. I can’t imagine a good time to be reminded of the man, is the problem. The pain is too acute. Perhaps in time, it will get easier.
I doubt he would think highly of me blubbering over him or even of me avoiding his books and papers. That helps, as well.
“How’s it going?”
I look up at the sound of Prince’s voice and wave him into the room. He’s been busy digging into the debacle that was my wedding day, and I hope his presence means he’s found something worth reporting. Yet all he does is pick up one of the ledgers and flop down in a chair near my desk.
“You’re looking at it,” I explain. “Making sure there’s nothing in any of these ledgers I need to be aware of. You know him. He never trusted computers.”
“Can you imagine how much paper got wasted back in the day?” Prince opens the book and crosses one ankle over the other knee to balance it in his lap. “And those old-fashioned Rolodex things that would sit beside a phone to keep track of a person’s contacts. How archaic. What were you supposed to do? Take it with you when you travel?”
“No, that was why everyone needed a secretary. You called her, and she looked up the number for you.”
