Dario DeLuca: Savage Bloodline

13. Dario

THIRTEEN

The door closeshard behind us, the night seeping into the condo I use for visits to the city. It’s late, and the city”s elite have long since abandoned our engagement party. The last thing either of us wants is to endure the two-hour drive back to my main estate, so I’ve brought her back here for the night instead. We’ll head home tomorrow, but I’ll let her rest for now.

Darkness blankets the room, and the only light shining through the blinds is faint and fleeting, but we can see more with each soft flicker of light. Mia hovers close to me, almost as if afraid to step further inside. I reach to my left, flicking on the lamp before stepping around Mia and tossing my keys onto the tiny table near the door.

“The rooms back there on the left, bathroom on the right. There should be extra toothbrushes under the sink, and there should be fresh pajamas you can sleep in,” I let out, the exhaustion of the day coming out with every word.

In normal circumstances, I’d leave the political life to the politicians. All the mixing and mingling takes a lot out of you, and today, it felt like it was on overdrive. Not only did people want to talk about my engagement to the mayor’s daughter, but they also questioned me about my campaign. After tonight, I have a newfound respect for people in this line of work.

Some are cut out for it, while others do better pulling the strings from the shadows. But Mia—my fiancée, my obligation—today she shimmered in the light of something genuine, something perilously close to real.

She played her role perfectly, almost as if she was made for this—the wife of a very powerful man—handling the crowd like a pro. I spent half the time contemplating firing Evelyn and letting Mia take over.

It was sexy, and watching her move so in that fucking dress had me dangerously close to pushing every boundary in existence.

“Where are we?” Mia asks, breaking my thoughts.

Glancing at her, I say, “My condo.”

“And you just happened to have extra female pajamas lying around? Is this where you bring your girls?” Mia takes in the room, a hint of what I can easily mistake as jealousy on her face.

“Does that matter to you? Who I bring here?”

“No. I just need to know we’re safe here. I don’t know the type of people you associate yourself with.” She looks back at me, nervousness etched into her posture.

“You’re safe. I already told you that earlier. You can relax now,” I assure her. “We’ll stay here for the night and return to the estate in the morning. And if you must know, the pajamas are yours. I knew it would be late when the party ended, so I made sure to have some of your things brought here.”

“Oh.” Mia nods and then takes a step forward while pointing. “Bathroom on the right.”

“Yes.”

She disappears down the hall, and I head straight for the kitchen, stopping once I reach the cupboard. I remove a tumbler, letting the cabinet close with a soft click, and make my way over to the fridge for a round of ice.

I drop it into the glass, then reach for the decanter of scotch on the counter. The brown liquid splashes into the glass, the sound filling the air. A second later, it’s drowned out by the shower turning on in the distance.

The memory of the evening comes forward. I think about Mia again, how she looked, felt, and even smelled. She was beautiful tonight, and she knew it.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I dig it out while bringing the drink to my lips and downing the contents in one swallow. It’s an email from Evelyn, so I open it without reading the subject line. After pouring another drink, I take it and my phone back into the living room. The sound of the shower running seems louder now that the walls no longer surround me and I am in the open space.

I glance down the hall, hoping to see Mia. It doesn’t matter that she is in the bathroom with the door closed, I look for her anyway. This woman—she’s so damn intriguing. Once I reach the oversized couch, I drop my phone, sit the scotch down on the coffee table, remove my blazer, and drape it neatly over the arm of the sofa.

I lower myself on the plush cushion and pick up my phone to read Evelyn’s email. She’s debriefing me on the night and updating me on all the donations my campaign has received in the last few hours alone. Apparently, she was right. People seeing Mia and me together was what I needed to strengthen my place in this election.

Attached to the email are a bunch of files and photos of the night, one of which is a picture of us dancing. I remember how she felt pressed flush against me, so soft and succulent. I shake the thought away and reach for my drink while going through the details in the emails. I pull up the updated campaign notes she included, tracing the lines of text, each strategy plotted precisely to uphold Enzo”s command.

The files, as endless as my family”s ambitions, demand my attention. Yet they go forgotten as soon as I hear the shower turn off, and the scrape of the curtain hooks against the metal rod follows. A few moments later, the door opens, and I hear Mia’s soft footsteps as she hurries over to the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Silence fills the air, and I’m left alone with my thoughts just as the phone buzzes in my hand. I glance down at the alert from the security system app.

Notification: 1:45 AM. Chicago Bedroom camera. Motion detected.

The alert includes a link to the feed. My finger hovers over the hyperlink, and I contemplate clicking it. However, I battle the warning voice that tells me to leave Mia alone and respect her privacy.

But the draw is too strong, too irresistible. Clicking on the link, I”m greeted with a live feed of the bedroom. The low flicker of the moonlight casts an ethereal glow on her exposed skin as she slips under the covers. She”s so beautiful, and my desire for her only intensifies. I shouldn”t be spying on her like this, but I can”t help myself.

She’s already in the bed, the comforter pulled up to her neck. As if sensing my gaze, Mia tosses and turns, her body arching and contorting with discontent. She settles on her back, her head pointed to the ceiling, completely oblivious that there are eyes on her.

I wonder what she’s thinking as she bends one knee, then the other, only to drop one. Shortly after, the other knee follows, and eventually, my answer comes when her hand dips under the thin cover.

My eyes are glued to the screen as she trails her free hand along her collarbone, down to the valley between her breasts, and lower still.

Is she?

Oh, yes, she is.

Through the clinical lens of surveillance, I witness the artless curve of her spine, the unguarded fall of her hair, dark against the pale expanse of her pillow. A breath escapes me, stolen by the sight of her.

The temptation coils within me, insidious and demanding. My eyes, once sharp as the edge of a blade, fixate on her form. The cameras betray nothing yet capture every secret in high definition. Her breath quickens, a silent symphony to which my pulse races an erratic accompaniment.

My cock hardens in my trousers as I watch her, imagining that she slips a digit inside herself, gasping softly in the silence of the room. Seeing her hands moving up and down, cloaked by the fabric, yet somehow still bearing it all to me.

Knowing what’s happening behind that door is enough to send me over the edge. Unable to look away, I lean back and run my palm over the tent in my slacks, my dick growing harder with every soft moan that slips past her lips. Thanks to the expensive system Rafael installed, I can see her every move vividly and hear just as well.

“Mm,” Mia mutters, low and sensual.

Dragging my hand up the front of my pants, I reach for my zipper and tug it down, then free myself through the hole in my boxer briefs. In the confines of my living room, where she can come out and catch me at any moment, I stroke myself.

Another alert comes across the screen.

Notification: 1:57 AM. Chicago Living Room camera. Motion detected.

I swipe up to clear the message and focus only on my beautiful bride-to-be. It doesn’t matter that the blanket shields her; I now know the faces and sounds she makes when pleasure calls her name. Every bite of her lower lip, every breathy moan, and the way her eyes roll to the back of her head as her body writhes off the mattress is now etched into my brain for eternity.

I grip my cock, stroking from base to tip in time with her motions on screen. I can imagine the heat, the wetness, the velvet caress of her innermost self—my desire surges with every unseen movement.

I yearn with a ferocity that startles even me. I want to be the architect of her ecstasy, to replace her hands with mine, to feel her unravel at my touch. Every part of me strains toward her, tethered only by the thin thread of a camera”s gaze.

She is beauty etched in shadow, a lure that resonates deep within the marrow of my bones. The longing to claim her, to brand her as mine, throbs in time with her quickened breaths. This woman has become my obsession, my unwitting tormentor.

The air around me feels charged and electric, as though the very atmosphere anticipates the inevitable. I am lost to her, to the pull of her touch, the phantom caress that holds me captive. Mia, this woman who was never meant to matter, now consumes every fiber of my being with a hunger that borders on reverence.

And so, I study her, transfixed, as she courts bliss with every stroke, every whispered sigh. I worship at the altar of her pleasure, a silent participant in the ritual unfolding before me. The night stretches on timelessly as we chase the precipice of release, together yet worlds apart.

Mia”s name is a litany, a sacred invocation that spells salvation and damnation. I long to hear her whisper it in the throes of passion, to feel her breath against my skin as she calls out to me.

With each beat of my heart, the fantasy blurs the lines of reality, painting a picture so vivid I can almost taste the sweetness of her lips and feel the heat of her body pressed against mine.

I breathe into the quiet of my fortress, a confession spoken to the night. My grip tightens, movements growing urgent as I chase the phantom of her touch, the specter of her pleasure that haunts me.

White hot passion builds within me, a crescendo threatening to break free. And in the fortress of my solitude, where darkness meets desire, I find myself at the mercy of a woman who doesn”t even know she holds the power to bring me to my knees.

“Mm. Dario.” My name sounds like heaven coming from her.

The groan that leaves me is guttural, a sound I barely recognize as my own. My breath catches, trapped within the confines of my chest.

”Fuck,” the word is a prayer, a curse, torn from my lips as I witness the rise and fall of her chest, the arch of her back.

She calls out to me again, her voice laden with longing and raw desire. With that, I throw my head back, surrendering to the storm. I allow her name to etch itself into my soul, branding me as surely as any ink that adorns my skin.

“Oh. Oh, mmm,” Mia moans, pulling my attention back to the phone.

Her body buckles as she finds her release, and I follow behind her, my own overtaking me. Together, we come, time dilated, and the world narrows to a singular point of exquisite intensity.

And when the high comes down, Mia lies in bed, her chest heaving to a rhythm similar to mine as her body calms. Everything is still again, the silences suddenly deafening. In the aftermath, I watch her through the cold eye of the camera, a voyeur to this intimate tableau.