18. Dario
18
DARIO
G inny is still sleeping in my bed when I wake up. I glance at the time. It’s 4:30 am. The last time I woke up this early was when I was still in my struggle to build my empire. Back then, late nights and early mornings were a usual occurrence for me.
I glance at the woman beside me, her soft body pressed against every inch of me as she sleeps. I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest like a hawk, unable to look away.
At some point during the night, our bodies became tangled together. Ginny is a deep sleeper, the kind who throws her hands and legs everywhere when she sleeps. And for some reason, I don’t mind that. I love that she’s all up in my space, that I can feel the heat of her body as it’s intertwined with mine.
What the hell is happening to me?
I move to get out of bed when she makes a soft sound in her throat before snuggling deeper into me. I can’t help the soft chuckle that escapes my lips. If I tell Ginny how she’s practically holding onto my body right now, she’ll bury her head in shame. Or better still, she wouldn’t even acknowledge it at all.
My eyes trail over her soft facial features. She looks very peaceful when she sleeps—the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her. Her dark hair spills all over my pillow, surrounding her head like a halo. Her long eyelashes fan her face, her cheeks are crushed into the pillow, and her mouth is parted slightly open. Her soft snores fill the room, doing something mushy to my insides.
My eyes trail down the column of her neck, and I work a swallow in my throat as they travel down to her breasts. The top of her nightgown has fallen dangerously low, revealing a peak of one rosebud nipple. This fucking nightdress. I curse low in my throat before reaching out to pull it back to its normal position.
But now, the image of her nipple is engrained in my head. It doesn’t help that as my eyes roam over the curve of her hips down to where her gown stops right below her ass, I’m imagining her naked and writhing under me.
I’ve felt her warmth clench around my fingers and have tasted her juices on my tongue. I thought that would make my craving stop. I thought it would satisfy this raging hunger within me. But it has only made me want more. Now, I want to see her naked body. I want to run my hand over the soft flesh as I slide my dick into her warm core.
We only slept together after I brought her to my room last night. I didn’t want to assume she’d be up for sex just yet. Not that I’d have had any trouble convincing her, but for some stupid, unusual reason, I’m willing to wait until we reach a better understanding through our frequent spats and animosity.
The idea of her still hating me while I’m with her doesn’t give me the usual thrill—it would be different if I knew she didn’t detest me quite so much.
Gritting my teeth, I pull the covers over my body before getting out of bed. By the time I get to the bathroom, I’m sporting a painful hard on. I quickly brush my teeth, skip shaving the two-day stubble on my chin, and head toward the shower.
The tiles are cool against my feet as I step in, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through me. I turn the knob, and the warm water cascades over my body, the rich scent of soap filling the air. I scrub my skin, working the suds into a thick foam, trying to wash away the heat, the tension, and the remnants of last night that cling to me like a second skin.
But as I rinse off, I switch to cold water, hoping to shock my system into submission. The icy spray hits me, sending shivers down my spine, but it does nothing to quell the fire within me. My thoughts drift back to Ginny, her defiance, the way she challenges me at every turn.
Then, my thoughts drift to her wetness, her soft moans against my ears, her wet pussy sliding over my face as she climaxed. I grit my teeth, the cold water only amplifying the turmoil inside me instead of doing the opposite.
Before I realize what I’m doing, my hands work up another lather, and I’m sliding my fist over my hard dick. My breathing increases as I move my fist up and down, the slick friction making me twitch with want.
I imagine myself sliding into her warm pussy, and I tighten my grip, imagining her wetness coating my cock as her walls clench around me. I let out a low groan, feeling my balls tighten at the pleasure, picturing her walls being stretched by my dick.
Her face flashes into my mind, flushed and panting with desire, and I picture myself fucking her, slowly at first, then slamming into her before our bodies start shaking and we come apart together. A few more pumps of my hand, and I’m spilling onto the tiled floor, gasping for breath, my eyes closed. I can hear my heartbeat echo in my ears, and I can feel the water trickle down my body.
I rinse myself off and step out of the shower, my frustration now at its peak. When I return to the bedroom, she’s still asleep. I turn away from her before I do something stupid like wake her up with my mouth between her legs.
Instead, I quickly get dressed in one of my expensive suits and shoes, slip my wallet into one of the pockets, grab my briefcase, and head out into the early morning air, hoping I can tuck all thoughts of Ginny far, far away.
I sit in my office, the dim light from the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. My eyes aimlessly roam across the wall opposite my desk, over the expensive art and various accolades lining its surface.
Right now, it all feels hollow. I glance at the ornate clock perched high above the other decorations on the wall. It’s 9:46 pm and my third night away from my house.
I’ve avoided the house for days, unable to shake the memory of Ginny and the moment we shared. And like now, every second I’ve spent away from her has been exhausted thinking about her. About her body, her mind, and her soul, if possible.
This wasn’t part of the plan. I’m supposed to hate her, to make her life miserable, yet here I am, stewing in my own thoughts, replaying every moment we spent together.
The silence is deafening, almost eerie, broken intermittently only by the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. I lean back in my chair, running a hand through my hair, frustration swirling within me. I shouldn’t have fucking kissed her.
Even before I touched her body, I knew the control she had over me. The way her hazel eyes managed to completely suck me in, the way the mere sight of her body left me mesmerized. The only woman I’ve ever craved so badly is the one woman I should avoid.
But I didn’t. I’d thought, Just one kiss and I’ll be satisfied . Instead, that one kiss had turned into tasting her, letting her taste me, and wanting more.
And more...
For three days, I’ve tried and failed to purge her out of my mind. I’ve reminded myself of every possible reason why she should remain out of bounds. How her family brought me so much pain, how her brother turned his back on me when I needed him the most.
My mind drifts down memory lane, down to the memories I’ve tried to keep on a leash, the ones I only go back to when I need to fuel my quest for revenge…
The day my father got the job with Lorenzo’s family, his excitement was palpable. I could tell from the way his voice practically buzzed with energy when he told my mother and me that we’d be moving to live with his new boss in the staff quarters assigned to us.
We took a taxi from the countryside into the city, heading to the grand house he’d been raving about for days. I remember staring out the window, watching the towers and skyscrapers soar above us.
When we eventually arrived at Bianchi’s Mansion, it was even grander than I had imagined. The magnificent entryway still looms in my mind. The polished marble floors gleaming under the soft glow of the chandelier.
I stood there, a small boy feeling dwarfed by the opulence surrounding me. It was like I was in the scene of one of the movies I watch, the place I use to believe was only where that kind of wealth existed. The thick scent of polished wood and expensive perfume lurked in the air, making my stomach churn with nerves.
Then Lorenzo had appeared with a bright smile that instantly put me at ease. He was about my age, and his friendly face was a welcome sight in this intimidating new environment.
“Come on in, I have so many games you can play with,” he’d said, pulling me inside.
Lorenzo was incredibly kind, and at just ten years old, I felt like I’d found both a brother and a best friend. As we grew older, our bond only grew stronger, even though we’d gone to different schools and led separate lives.
My father worked as his father’s personal henchman for seven years, and during that period, we experienced a financial breakthrough. It was fortunate, especially since my mother had been diagnosed with stage II breast cancer and we could afford the treatment.
I remember the relief that washed over my father’s face when he talked about his earnings for my mother’s chemotherapy. The weight of fear lifted, even though it was only for a moment, grateful for the life Lorenzo’s family provided.
Despite how close Lorenzo and I were, I couldn’t help but notice the way his mother always looked at me—with a disdain so sharp it could cut glass. Even as we laughed and played, her eyes were a constant reminder that I didn’t belong.
I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the joy of being with Lorenzo and the news, a few years later, of his new sibling. I can still remember the excitement that bubbled through him. At twelve, he was finally going to be a big brother, something he’d always wanted.
When Ginny had arrived, Lorenzo was ecstatic, and I shared in his excitement, feeling a warmth bloom in my chest whenever we carried and played with her. And as Ginny grew, she became the light in our lives, her constant laughter and mischief blurring out their mother’s hatred for me, which worsened as I became a teenager.
But then, my mother’s cancer had returned, and everything had taken a dark turn. I was seventeen, Lorenzo was eighteen, and it was the summer before he left for college in the UK. Lorenzo invited me to their beach house in Italy, offering a brief escape from my troubles.
We spent a perfect day on the beach—sun shining, Ginny building sandcastles, and us splashing in the waves. But that night, everything had changed.
I remember the slap that pulled me up from my slumber, how harsh the fingers felt against my skin, and how I woke up startled and confused.
In the darkness, I was yanked from my dreams by a rough grip, dragging me down a hallway I had never known existed in that house. Each step felt like a descent into hell. I was terrified and confused. I could hear distant whispers from a room nearby. The air around me felt thick with tension, and my heart had raced with dread.
When I was pulled into that dimly lit room, the sight before me left me even more baffled. There was Lorenzo, his face stricken with guilt, while his mother looked on with disgust as usual.
But it was Antonio Bianchi, Lorenzo’s father, cigar smoke curling around him like a predator, that sent chills down my spine. His expression was foreign to me—cold, menacing.
And then I saw my own father in a corner, beaten and bruised, huddled on the floor. My heart sank, and I rushed toward him, desperation clawing at my throat. But a henchman had slapped me across the cheek, sending me sprawling back.
“Dario!” my had father shouted, pain and fear mingling in his voice, but all I could see was Lorenzo standing there, frozen, his eyes wide but unmoving. The betrayal felt like a knife twisting in my gut, sharper than the pain on my skin.
My best friend hadn’t lifted a finger to help me. Why?
I grit my teeth, blinking the memories away. They fade to the back of my mind, where they belong, but I can’t get rid of the emotions. As always, they linger like a shadow in the corners, waiting for the right moment to manifest.
This is one of those moments.
Balling my hands into fists, I resolve that I’ll never let what happened with Ginny happen again, even if it kills me.