CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Adrian
I stood at the edge of the garden, watching as Serafina chased after Mia, Elena’s four-year-old daughter. I had made sure Elena had full custody of her daughter and she was finally home now.
The three of them stayed in the three-bedroom outhouse, at the edge of my property. Far enough for mine and their privacy, but close enough that they were always present, nearby for anything and everything.
The little girl shrieked with delight as my wife pretended to stumble, dramatically falling to her knees before scooping the child into her arms.
“Got you!” Serafina said, her laughter carrying across the lawn like music.
My three Dobermans lounged nearby, their sleek bodies stretched out in the afternoon sun. They watched the scene with interest, but kept their distance, perhaps sensing Serafina’s lingering fear of them despite their obvious affection for her.
They respected her boundaries, maintaining their distance while keeping a vigilant watch.
She never truly forgived me for that night.
And she never allowed them near her again.
Mia squealed in delight as my wife swung the child up into her arms. The little girl’s curls bounced as she giggled, her small hands reaching for Serafina’s hair.
I found myself transfixed by the sight of my wife. The way she moved with the child, so natural, so effortless. Her dark hair caught the sunlight as she spun Mia around, the little girl’s laughter mingling with Serafina’s.
Something stirred in my chest—a feeling I couldn’t quite name, couldn’t control.
“Again, again!” Mia demanded, tugging on Serafina’s hands when she placed her down.
My wife obliged, her face flushed with exertion and happiness as she lifted the child onto her hip. She carried Mia to a stone bench beneath the oak tree, settling the girl on her lap.
“Your hair is a mess,” Serafina told Mia, her fingers already working to separate the tangled strands. “Let me fix it.”
I moved closer, drawn to them like a moth to flame.
Her fingers worked meticulously through the girl’s hair, separating the strands for a braid. The sight was so domestic, so unexpectedly tender that I found myself unable to look away, utterly transfixed.
“You have such pretty hair,” Serafina murmured, her voice soft. “When I was little, my mother used to braid mine every morning.”
I leaned against the trunk of the oak tree, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched. The image before me, Serafina with a child, stirred a primal feeling inside me.
My wife would make a good mother.
The thought hit me with unexpected force.
I imagined her swollen with my child, her belly rounded beneath my hands, her face glowing with that mysterious light that pregnant women seemed to possess, her eyes soft with the same tenderness she showed Elena’s daughter.
The image was so vivid I could almost feel the weight of it, a future I hadn’t allowed myself to think of.
A future I didn’t think I was worthy of.
My chest tightened, lungs clenching with a suffocating ache that refused to ease. A sharp, restless ache; a longing spreading through me like poison.
“All done,” Serafina announced, tying off the braid with a small ribbon. She turned Mia around to face her. “What do you think?”
The little girl beamed. Mia said something, her voice too quiet for me to hear, but whatever it was made Serafina throw her head back, her laughter echoing across the garden.
Genuine and unrestrained. The sound wrapped around me, settling beneath my skin, pulling at parts of me I didn’t want touched.
Fuck.
The afternoon light caught the curve of her throat, the perfect line of her jaw.
Beautiful.
My heart thudded painfully against my ribs.
She was so goddamn beautiful, it fucking hurt.
Thud. Thud.
I forced myself to look away, unable to bear the weight of my own thoughts.
The darkness inside me stirred, reminding me of what I was, what I had done, what I needed to do.
This glimpse of something that looked almost too pure to be real…
I didn’t deserve this. Her.
Not worthy. Of them.
***
I found myself outside her bedroom door again.
It had become a habit now, this nightly vigil, watching her sleep from the corner of her room. Something about her presence calmed the storm that perpetually raged inside me.
I slipped inside silently, taking my usual position in the armchair across from her bed. My arms crossed over my chest as I settled in to watch her sleep.
A strange sense of calmness slid over me, burying under my flesh.
I didn’t know how long I had been sitting there when her eyes fluttered open, finding mine in the darkness. She didn’t startle or show any fear, a testament to how accustomed we had become to this strange ritual.
“How long are you going to keep doing that?” she asked, her voice soft with sleep.
I didn’t answer immediately, studying the way her hair spread across the pillow, the gentle rise and fall of her chest beneath the covers.
“Doing what?” I asked, though I knew exactly what she meant.
“This.” She gestured vaguely toward me, toward the chair. “Coming in here to watch me sleep.”
I shrugged, unable to explain the compulsion that drove me to her room night after night.
Serafina shifted, pushing herself up against the headboard. The sheet slipped down, revealing the smooth curve of her shoulder. She regarded me for a long moment, her expression unreadable in the darkness.
Then, to my surprise, she lifted the edge of the covers.
“Come here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Thud.
Fuck me.
That invitation was almost impossible to deny but she didn’t know what she was asking.
I shook my head. “You don’t want me in your bed, Serafina.”
She raised an eyebrow, a hint of her old defiance flashing in her eyes. “You think you know what I want?”
“I know what you think you want,” I replied, my voice rough. “I won’t sleep in your bed.”
Her lips twitched. “You said anything about sleeping?”
“Maybe I want you to teach me more,” she said, her voice dropping lower. Steady and certain. The invitation in her words was unmistakable.
Heat surged through my veins at her words, my cock hardening instantly at the thought.
I shifted in the chair, trying to hide my reaction, but it was useless. The image of her beneath me, her body arching, her lips parted in pleasure—it was too vivid, too powerful.
“You want me inside your tight, little pussy?” I asked, my voice a dark caress. “Is that what you’re asking for, Princess?”
She didn’t flinch from my crude words like I had expected.
Instead, her eyes darkened, her lips parting slightly, tongue darting out to wet her lips.
Ah, my wife liked my filthy words.
My lips curved into a smirk I couldn’t control.
“Yes,” she breathed, the word barely audible.
I rose from the chair in one fluid motion, drawn to her like a man possessed. Obsessed.
The darkness inside me roared with triumph, with hunger.
She wanted me.
She needed me.
She asked for me.
I stood at the edge of the bed, looming over her. Serafina’s breath caught, her chest rising and falling rapidly. But she didn’t look away. She held my gaze, her eyes filled with a hunger that matched my own.
I stripped off my shirt, tossing it aside. Her eyes tracked the movement, darkening further as she took in the expanse of my chest, the tattoos that coiled around my left arm.
I slid into bed beside her, my body immediately responding to her warmth, her proximity. I reached for her, my hand cupping her face, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
Her eyes fluttered close.
“I’m going to fill you up until you can’t take it anymore,” I promised, my voice a rough whisper. “Until you’re begging me to stop.”
“What if I don’t beg for you to stop?” she challenged, a husky low whisper.
“Careful now. You’re playing with the beast,” I warned her. “He doesn’t like to be probed and provoked by reckless little girls.”
“I know,” Serafina replied, her voice breathless. “But the beast is mine, isn’t he?”
Yeah, he fucking was.