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Dacre
It’s near dawn when my brother’s leave. It’s been a couple of hours since Greta went back to bed and her REM sleep should have kicked in by now. Turning the knob to her door, I watch the pale light from the hallway highlight her face.
She’s lying on her back, mouth half open and her thick ringlets are spread all over her large pillow. I’ve been in her room before. Sometimes I walk in here when she’s not at home. It’s my favorite room and it relaxes me to spend time in here.
Some people go to art shows, or the gallery or the gentleman’s club. I go to Greta’s room. To my sanctuary.
Even the air is different...fresher and it makes it easy to draw lungful’s of oxygen. Greta is that rich breeze in my life, the one thing that’s untouched and undamaged. My eyes roam around the room, my lips curving at what a little neat freak she is.
Greta’s the kind of girl that puts things back right where she found them. She likes order and harmony. Once she even told me her favorite word is synchronicity. But there’s more to Greta than manicured fingernails and shoes and bags that match.
Her heart is big, her eyes full of wonder. She’s innocent in a way I was never allowed to be. I joined the mob at the age of sixteen and had a rough life before that. I lived in the bad part of town but always yearned for the better one.
The better part where girls like Greta lived and I walk over to her bed, looming over her like a shadow but she doesn’t even flinch. I’m counting on her waking up and I’m willing to take the risk but judging from how deep she’s sleeping, I don’t think it’ll happen.
Letting out a low moan, she rolls over to her side and I take the opportunity to slide into bed with her. She’s got a quality bed and it barely creaks but I’m still tense, making sure the coast is clear and then I throw an arm over her and pull her to me.
I get a raging erection the moment her little ass cushions my crotch and I grit my teeth. Fuck. Squeezing my eyes, I curse over how agonizing this is. She’s too soothing. It takes a toll on me to be close to her like this and yet I’d rather slit my throat than leave.
My skin hungers for her.
It wants to be touched by her.
I’ll die without her.
Nuzzling her throat, I silently groan at how good she smells. If perfection had a face it would be Greta’s. I don’t see enough of that beautiful face. And I never get to touch her or hug her. She barely even smiles at me.
It’s a fucking shame because one smile from her and all my troubles drain.
Bad memories fade when Greta’s around.
I got shot in the ribs a couple of years ago and the pain is still intense here and there but never when I’m with Greta. All I can feel when I’m with her is the raging throbbing down my pants and the sped up beat of my heart.
Dipping my hand, I use it to slid Greta’s nightgown up to her hip and I can’t help but take a peak. Just as I thought. White underwear. Lacey. Seamless. And they hug her butt perfectly and it would be so easy to pull them aside and slide in between her cheeks.
Bury myself. Find some real peace in the generosity of her body. Hide in her and feel myself become a part of her. It’s the closest to her I’ll ever come.
Exploding with extreme heat, I clench my jaw to not let out a moan but can’t stop myself from rocking into her. That little motion feels so fucking good and I hold her closer. There’s so much I want to do to her, so much I want to say.
I’ve never been the kind to make love but I want to make love to Greta.
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 was 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. 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.
