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“You are sick in the head,” I stop his hand with mine, just as he is about to pull the fabric further up to reveal my bare butt.
“You have no idea how sick in the head you make me,” he grinds his crotch against me so I feel his bulging erection, then takes his mouth to the side of my head, “You have no idea the sick things I would do to you,” he pulls the fabric up firmly and grabs my bare butt in a way that will no doubt imprint his fingers on my skin, “I knew I would find you naked underneath because I specifically asked Evelyn not to get you any underwear,” I feel his smile against the side of my head.
“Benedetto, get off me,” I squirm some more, but for some stupid reason, I try not to raise my voice and alert Lawrence and my father. I don't know if it's because I'm scared they mightshow up and show him how very little they care for me, which might give him more leeway to keep up with his assault, or if it’s because I don’t really want him to stop.
“I will get off of you,” he chuckles, “after I confirm something.” His free hand, which was once beside my head, disappears under my dress and starts to trail between my thighs.
I close them to keep him out.
“Stop,” I tremble, too aware of what he’d find, “please.”
“I can't, Rosaline, I'm far gone.”
I don't know what he means or why that sounds strained and from a place of deep-seated pain, but I need him to stop. I need him to stop what he is doing and how he is teaching my body to lean into this forbidden dark side of appalling desire.
“Benedetto, you're forcing your way through, that's not how this is supposed to work,” my hands stop trying to make him let go of the fabric and start struggling to push his hand away from my pressed thighs.
“Open up, Rosaline,” he mutters and I shake my head. “Have it your way then,” the hand clasping my butt cheek slides down quickly to grab the back of my thigh and lift my foot off the floor to wrap around him and before I can protest or fight him off, his hand shoots upward to my core and he grabs the now swollen, shamefully slick flesh.
Feeling powerless, lightheaded, violated, and sickly aroused, I lean in and bite him hard on his shoulder blade. I press my teeth harder, while my fingers scrape and pinch his hand as he starts to move it back and forth over my clit.
“Wet, needy, good slut,” he chuckles, “you liked to be touched, don't you? Was that why you couldn't help but cheat on Romano?” He keeps swiping his hand back and forth my core, “You have a greedy nasty appetite, huh?”
Tears round up to my eyes and I sniff, punching him weakly, from exhaustion of him forcing my body to listen to his command and me fighting my body to listen to mine.
“Rose,” My father barks from the ground floor and I jerk, whimpering.
Benedetto moves away from me, pins me with his clouded eyes, then takes his now glossy fingers which had been harassing my pussy, to his mouth.
I should leave and go to my dad, but my feet stay firm and my heart lodges in my throat, forgetting how to beat as I watch him part his lips and take his index and middle fingers into his mouth, and lick me off him. I gulp as he swallows. His dreamy eyes close idly and a throaty sound escapes him as he licks.
He is a sick man. And contagious.
This is madness. Me watching him and wanting to taste what he is tasting. How is he even doing this?
“You are sick,” I grit.
He chuckles and drops his fingers, “That makes two of us.”
I can't stand to be in his presence any further. I can't stand to be in my presence any further. I take the stairs two at a time, not minding if I miss my step and crash land. Maybe that's what I need. To crash and hit my head so hard I will come back to my senses.
I'm about to take the next round of stairs to the ground floor when I see my father and Lawrence standing by a door in the hallway of the second floor.
“What took you so long?” Lawrence grumbles.
“I was dressing,” I lie.
He chuckles, “So much just to look helpless?” he snorts.
“No time, both of you,” my father glances at me, and it's hard to miss the disapproving scowl on his face from my outfit. “We are late,” he knocks on the door.
A boisterous “Coming,” follows from inside the room.
“Now listen to me and listen good Rose,” my father whispers, “Whatever you are asked to do in there, you do it and do not make a fool of me.”
I'm out of breath and I can still feel the tears around my eyelids, and it's either they don't notice or they don't care.
The door opens and a man who has a rusty resemblance with Benedetto, in his simple white t-shirt and blue jeans, smiles at us. He must be the infamous Claudio.
