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The anger isn’t at myself though, it’s at the fact that every damn word my father said two weeks ago was right. I’d been so obsessed with being aDonand growing our business ventures that I conflated the two. Being a leader equaled having a growing bank account.
Well not any more.
I’ve had plenty of damn time to think on how to move forward. And number one isnotwith Sophie Russo.
The engagement must not happen. Surely the whole thing is a sham. Somehow Tommy Russo is using this to gain ground on us. He’s using it to get close enough to slide a knife right up our shirt and then tickle our throats.
I enter my room, and by room it’s a fucking wing of the building. I know Sophie took the eastern side. She faces the enormous cypress grove and trees clawing into the muds of the swamp water. It’s beautiful at sunrise. If only I could show her the sunset …
I close my eyes and bunch my hands into fists.
The first week was unbearable, I kept thinking all this romantic crap every time I saw her. To pretend to be angry, to pretend to be frustrated at her when all I wanted to do was take a hold of her and kiss her… It took all my effort. So I cut myself off and hid away. I worked and worked and worked, by the single bar of reception. But it still wasn’t enough to stop my thinking of her. And knowing that now after a whole month of being without her she was only mere meters away…I’d rubbed one out every damn shower I took. I just couldn’t get those tits—
“No!” I say, opening my eyes and walking to my desk. “Not again.”
This is how it happens every time. Two fucking weeks I’ve been doing this! Two weeks I’ve been vowing to never think of Sophie Russo again. Vowing to never even picture her again. Then next thing I know, Sophie Russo is the only thing I can see and hear. Her moans still echo in my head from the yacht. Pretty soon my pants are at my ankles and I'm reaching for a tissue.
It’s like puberty all over again.I really am twelve.
I take my phone from the desk and check to see if any messages have come through. Because even if I’ve been unable to contact anyone, one thing that has come through these last weeks have been the messages.
Ever since the attempted hit I’ve begun getting texts from an unknown number. Or I should say numbers. It changes every time but it’s the same person. They say the same things and want the same outcomes.They want me and the Colombino’s gone.Empty threats to someone like me. But they have got something interesting. They keep sending the same picture of Sophie and I at the docks. It’s just as I was closing her into the car. Whoever took it was hiding far away, most likely on a crane.
I can only assume it’s a Manetti person attempting this blackmail. Except they have a problem, Sophie isn’t mine to care about. They can do whatever they want, it doesn’t affect me or the Colombinos … Except everytime they mention hurting her, I go fucking ape shit inside. I’ve almost broken this damn phone multiple times over the course of staying here.
I’ve come to a stop, unaware that I’ve been pacing the entire time, I go to the sideboard and pour a rum. It barely burns as I swig it down in one go. I need to drown myself. I need to swim again.
Yesterday was the perfect cure until Sophie showed up. I swam until I was ragged and tired. I could barely get out of the water. It distracted me enough to stop thinking about all of it. The blackmailer. Sophie. My father …
Then the mere thought of Sophie maybe watching me had given all the energy back.
I start stripping off to change into my swimwear. My shorts slide along the floor with a flick of my foot and I ignore my damn semi with all my might. Even my own cock has turned on me with the thoughts of Sophie Russo being so close by. He’s taunting me with an easy win.
I take up my speedos from the bed and slide them on, tucking my dick back up along the waistband. I grab the towel and goggles on the couch, wrapping it around me as I go, and get out the door quickly. I need to get into the pool fast. At least if I’m swimming no one can see the boner I get from thinking about Sophie’s miraculous body.
I practically run through the house, stumble down the stairs and pass through the downstairs entertaining room towards the pool. Just as I’m about to yank open the glass door and go out though, I stop immediately. Dumbfounded. Someone’s already there.
It’s her …
Sophie beat me to it. She’s already out here. I can’t go out there. All I can do is stare at her from behind the door. All I can do is watch her luscious lips glistening in the sun. She’s wearing a one piece swimsuit and it’s shaping her like nothing I could ever have dreamed of. She’s got one arm cocked behind her head and her other is holding a book at arms length. She’s got sunglasses on too, so I can’t tell if she’s seen me yet. But I don’t care. Suddenly all I want to do is watch her. Take her in. Her skin glows in the sun, yet dulled slightly. She looks like the sweetest caramel I’ve ever seen. Her legs bend as a ballet dancer’s would. She makes reclining by the pool seem like an elegant poised pose. Her feet point away from her and I follow the line of her legs back to what I’ve really wanted to look at the whole time. Her breasts held perfectly by her suit and round—
Her mouth drops open.
Shit, she’s seen me! I look from side to side, hoping somewhere will magically appear to hide me and my fucking boner pointing out of my speedos.
But then I hear something odd through the glass door.
A snore.
Sophie is snoring. My eyebrows crease and I’m frowning all of a sudden.
She’s asleep? I’ve been spying on a sleeping woman?
Then just as quickly Sophie rolls to the side, off the recliner and into the pool.
There’s a huge splash and I cackle with laughter. The mirth rolls off of me and I can’t help but laugh even harder out loud.
But after a few beats Sophie hasn’t come up.
