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“Maybe her name could be Greta,” I murmur, “or princess?”
Dacre doesn’t say anything but the hot look in his eyes turns into lava and I gulp when my skin begins to feel like I’m about to be thrown into a volcano. Letting out a breathy laugh, I add, “Her breasts are naked.”
My stepbrother clears his throat and I want to kick myself. Obviously he can see that she’s naked but for some reason, I can’t stop myself. “And they’re so perky...,” I continue and I don’t know where I’m going with this, “and she has no head. Or eyes or lips...”
I need to be quiet. It started out okay but now I’m just making it worse and mild confusion colors Dacre’s eyes but he still seems interested and I pinch my lips, giving it one more try. “Maybe you need to give her a head,” I whisper, “or maybe it’s me who needs to give you h...head...”
What on earth am I doing...?
This is not working at all and I’m so embarrassed by my little performance that I rush out of the office, but not before accidentally stepping on Baldur’s tail and he lets out an offended howl. Great! Add animal cruelty to the list of my specialties! Burying my face in my head, I groan with the notion that I don’t know how I’ll be able to come back from this.
If Dacre was willing to pay me earlier he sure won’t be willing anymore. I have no idea what I was blabbing about in there but I’m pretty certain I ruined everything. I could probably undress to just a candy thong and skimp right in front of Dacre and he’d politely decline.
My package may signal that I have all my ducks in a row but truth is that I’m an upper class catastrophe. Ladies and gents, I give you:The Simpleton Seductressaka.How Not To Seduce A Mobster.
*****
Dacre
Dragging a hand through my hair, I look at the closed door. What was that? It started out so damn sexy before she freaked out and ran like she had the devil himself chasing her. I glance at the bust and chuckle.
Despite what Greta may think, I more than enjoyed her little performance but now she’s gone. She’s not with me, like she’s supposed to be and I grab a pen, twirling it between my fingers. Her wariness of me is frustrating as hell. Letting out a curse, I drag my nails across the desk before pounding my fist in annoyance.
My need for her is something that shouldn’t be toyed with.
It’s not run-of-the-mill, it’s not fleeting and it sure as fuck isn’t comfortable walking around with a hard on all the time that I can’t get rid of no matter how many times I try taking care of it myself.
Letting out an impatient groan, I figure I got two choices. Either I leave for the night and let the mob life take the edge off or I walk into Greta’s room and slide into bed with her like I did yesterday. In the end the latter choice wins.
Trailing down the dark hallway, I turn the knob and as expected Greta’s fast asleep. A smirk curves my mouth and I walk inside, gently closing the door behind me. Her curtains aren’t completely drawn and the room not as dark as it would be if they were.
She’s knocked out flat on her stomach, her one arm lingering below the edge of the bed and I want to tuck her in. She’s the apple of my eye. The one thing I care about above all. If the choice was between her on my brother in the mafia, she’d always win.
And thing is that even if she doesn’t know it, Greta needs someone like me in her life. Her mother’s selfish, her father dead and she has no siblings or other close relatives. Who else would watch over her, if not me?
“My Greta,” I whisper in the dark, my voice filling with emotion and desire but she doesn’t awaken. I wonder what she dreams about. I dream about her all the fucking time. I used to keep a gun underneath my pillow in the past but these days I got a photo of Greta instead.
Weapons used to soothe the restlessness I’d feel in my veins but now Greta does that for me.
I’ve had my walls up most of my life, thought that if a woman ever wanted to get past them she’d had to use a sledgehammer. But Greta made them tumble down easier than that. Just a simple blow with her pink mouth and I crumbled.
It was astonishing how little she had to do to get me down on my knees. My little stepsister’s worthy of an award and filling with tenderness, I stand by the edge of her bed, looking down at her like a creep while admiring her lush hair.
There’s so many different shades, pale caramel, butter blond and white like snow and my whole body aches. I need something. She needs to give me something. Her beauty is beyond compare but not in a superficial way. Her beauty’s healing. It nurtures and soothes a hardened soul.
Rain gently starts smacking on the window, the sound reminding me of tracing fingertips and the traffic lights illuminate the shape of Greta. And it’s a hell of a shape, elegant angles and coy curves wherever I look and that ache in my body increases.
Maybe getting into bed with her tonight is too risky. If I wrap my arms around her, I’ll do more than just hold her. But I can’t leave empty handed. Reaching for a pair of silver scissors she keeps on her desk, I walk closer and grab one of her locks.
Shame that I’m going to do this. She’s too perfect to change anything but I need something of hers and her tresses are so full, she won’t miss it. Scissoring a piece of the lock, I hold it in my hand and it’s softer than silk.
Putting it to my nose, I inhale and the scent makes my eyes roll back in my head. Stepbrother has a piece of her now and I want to put it in the safe in my office. It’ll be that little part of her that nobody ever will be able to take from me.
Wherever she goes, Greta leaves her DNA just like all humans. She leaves traces of her on strangers, on places and sometimes the jealousy gets unbearable. But that s-shaped little lock...that’s all mine. Bending down I trail feather light kisses up her arm to thank her for her gift and I linger on her shoulder, wanting to make my way up to her neck when she suddenly yanks her arm back, rolls over and screams.
The shriek pierces through the dark like a blade, causing Baldur to bark outside in the hallway and I clamp my hand over Greta’s mouth but not before hiding the piece of her hair in my pocket.
“Quiet,” I hiss, “it’s just me.”
