Chapter 47
GIANNA
Something’s brewing and it’s not just the storm that’s coming in from the sea.
I can feel it in the air all over the house and especially when Matteo is around.
Through the window, I’ve seen him approach the other men all day.
Sometimes shaking hands with them at the end of the conversation, sometimes walking away looking like a lion that had just been denied a kill.
Twilight is falling. I want to go see Chiara, spend the night with her, hope that she’s better in the morning. Good enough to come home? I don’t actually wish that, since her home is now this house and it’s not a home at all.
Winds are picking up outside and very dark clouds are amassing in the distance, over the ocean. Every so often a flash of gold pierces them. Lightning, not the sun. Because the sun can’t pierce darkness like that.
Just as that thought sounds in my head, the door opens and Matteo walks in, the look on his face still that of a lion that hadn’t killed anything.
That darkness he carries, no sun can pierce that either. It’s trying to. That’s what all that sunshine in his eyes is all about. But it won’t ever happen.
I stand up from the window nook where I’ve been sitting all day. My muscles are as stiff as the wooden bench.
“I want to go see Chiara now,” I tell him.
He walks over to me slowly, a predator stalking his prey. The heat of the sun in his eyes intensifies, but it won’t be enough to pierce the darkness. I know that.
“I want things too,” he says and reaches for my hand.
And before I can even think of snatching it away, he’s already pulling me close.
One hand gripping my wrist, the other holding the back of my head, guiding my lips to his for the kind of kiss that makes my knees weak, and all stiffness flee from my body.
I feel like I could climb Mount Everest when he kisses me like this.
Or fly. Right out of this dark old house and to a sunlit freedom.
But even that sneaky thought doesn’t take away from the power of the kiss.
He’s not holding me in place any longer because he doesn’t need to. Instead, his hands are exploring my body, caressing my neck and my breasts, my back, and my butt. I want to step away, I do. I want to demand he take me to see my sister right away, I do.
But my body has other ideas. So I’m moaning and leaning into his touch, my pussy already pulsing in anticipation of his attention.
But he’s not there yet. He’s kneading my breasts slowly, and each time his fingers find my nipples I moan louder and kiss him deeper.
I don’t even think about fighting him off before my shirt and my bra are on the floor and his lips are on my breasts, kissing, sucking on my nipples, making my mind spin from the pleasure, the desire, and the wrongness of it all.
I grip his shoulders and try to push him away.
“Stop, we have to go,” I tell him, even as the need to have him inside me shoots through my core like a million suns.
“No, we don’t,” he says, grinning at me as he grips my neck and spins me around.
Then he rips off my pants and panties in one practiced, strong move and I’m once again moaning instead of fighting. He keeps one hand around my throat, as he slides the other down my naked back and across my butt to my pussy.
“So wet,” he whispers. “You sure you really want to go anywhere?”
“Yes,” I say, then moan again and push against his palm as he slides his thumb into me.
He’s gripping my throat tight, taking my air as he massages my clit and that special button inside me where all the best orgasms come from. Before I know it, the lack of air and the incredible sensations his fingers are giving me take away all my wish to fight, to resist.
Because who wants anything other than all this pleasure?
I am one with the dark clouds gathering outside, one with the fierce lighting trying to chase them away, one with the wind gusting and rattling the glass in the windows. One with the darkness. His darkness.
I come hard, unravelling completely, getting swallowed by the darkness for a moment before a burst of light flashes and illuminates everything.
He releases me and steps back.
I expect to feel his cock in me next. Crave it. Yearn for it.
But the creaking of floorboards tells me he’s walking away.
I turn, lock eyes with him, get seared by the scorching light in them.
“I’ll see you later, Goldie,” he says and grins. “Just wanted to give you a little taste of what you can expect later.”
I want to go see my sister.
But I don’t say it.
I do want it. But I want the later he promised to come first. And then he’s gone, and the first fat raindrops of the storm are hitting the windows like tears. Like the tears I should be shedding for my past, my family, my captivity. But I can’t. Because I’m a traitor and I already miss his touch.