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There are dark shadows, jaded edges, and the whole package of untouched corners.
But most of all, there are parts that we don’t even like to look at in the mirror.
Everyone has a fraction that they dislike. Mine is everything.
When I was a teen with troubled emotions and a thirst for violence, I thought it was because my father betrayed my mother, who proceeded to hate herself and made me witness her drowning in her own blood.
Then as I grew older, I realized my need for a darker substance of life had nothing to do with my parents and more to do with my head that was apparently wired differently.
So differently that when Nicolo broke every other kid’s toy, I just watched without being bothered or excited.
So differently that I used dark emotions, such as hatred, revenge, and violence, to fill the gaping hole I discovered inside me.
And I’ve been doing so well, wearing the diamond-studded mask that’s made of my billions and being the king my name refers to.
I hide my hungry demons, twisted emotions, and special brand of emptiness so well that even my daughter doesn’t see it.
Nate does, but just a portion of it and only when I lose control.
So why in the fucking fuck does this woman who feels so small in my arms see that gaping hole?
More importantly, why did she seek me out when she was fully aware I would be at my fucking worst?
Partially, that doesn’t matter, because I’ve been buried in her tight cunt for the past hour.
After I carried her inside the cottage, I fucked her on the carpet while on all fours as I pulled on her bright red hair that, under the dim light, looks like blood.
My demons’ favorite color.
Then I threw her on the worn-out sofa, ripped off whatever was left of our clothes, and fucked her with her legs on my shoulders.
We somehow ended up on the floor again, on which I smacked her ass red, then, not being able to resist, I flipped her around and thrust into her again. I fucked her with renewed, unhinged energy until her moans turned to cries and small whimpers.
That’s where we are right now, on the thirty-year-old carpet that only sees the cleaning lady every Sunday, like a church.
I’m on top of her, one of her long legs on my shoulder and the other on the floor.
Her body is a map of bite marks, sucking marks, finger marks, spanking marks. All the marks.
I’ve taken my time, stamping every inch of her skin with my mouth, dick, and hands.
My cock slowly thickens as I think of all the other places I can mark her in. Places no one but me will ever look at.
Aspen lies on her back, her hair like flames around her face, and she smells like the strongest patchouli and me.
Only me.
Perspiration clings to her skin and streaks of my cum decorate her stomach from earlier. Biting wasn’t enough, so I came all over her pink tits and pale stomach.
Caveman much? Probably. But I’m starting to think I have no limits whatsoever with this woman.
If it were anyone else, she would’ve been on her way an hour ago, a few thousand dollars richer and with a copy of her NDA.
I never wanted to have a woman as soon as I’ve finished with increasing intensity. But Aspen is an infuriating exception to my habit.
Her eyes widen as she stares at me and then to where we’re joined. “You’re…getting hard again.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
