9. Tommy
9
Tommy
No. This isn’t right.
Somehow, I know I’ve fallen for her game. I’ve given her what she’s ultimately wanted, and I’ve allowed her to distract me.
She first used a sob story about her past to gain sympathy, and then she kissed me to knock me off balance. The perfect duo.
Who the fuck am I trying to fool? The panic on her face and her terror-laced words spilled a confession not even Santino had gotten his hands on yet.
I won’t be the one to tell him. Despite my deepest instincts urging me on, I keep her words locked away. Running to Santino isn’t an option. It’s not my story to tell.
Doesn’t mean I’m not going to do anything about it.
Elijah Sutton has done damage. If he disappears, Valeria won’t have a reason to keep looking over her shoulder. If I kill him, would she want me to torture him as slowly as he tortured her friend? Would that make her happy?
One little kiss, and I’m completely fucked. That kiss overturned and scattered all my goals. I never wanted to hurt her. No, I wanted her miserable and afraid because I wanted to be the one she begged forgiveness from.
Now look at me, thinking about killing a man I’ve never met in my life. Not just thinking, but wanting to do it.
I’ve only ever wanted to spill blood to appease her brother. That’s how I know this is all wrong. For years, I’ve been his dog, sniffing down targets and making them all regret crossing his path. I’ve only ever dirtied my hands for this family, and that was after Valeria left. After Leon died.
Could he have imagined me to become the coldhearted being I am today?
The day he took me in, he already knew what my purpose would be. Taking care of my family, I gave him my life to protect one of his.
Looking across the table, Valeria sits next to Urzo and Eliza. She’s smiling, a harsh contrast to her usual expression. She sat away from me on purpose. Since we parted ways, her skin has flushed down to her shirt collar.
Like she can feel the weight of my stare, her eyes shift over toward me as her mouth keeps moving. I think they’re talking about motorcycles; I don’t know. She doesn’t look at me for long, not bothering to throw a scowl in my direction.
Her smile, for a fleeting moment, almost seems intended for me.
All these days of keeping her within my sight has been taking a toll on me. It’s why my head is feeling so muddled. Why I’m thinking about the past more than I am the future.
I can’t kill Elijah. If Santino wanted him dead, he would’ve given the order.
Sitting here, knowing that the man I’ve never met wants to get his hands on Valeria and take away the smile on her lips, leaves me agitated. He wants to take her life, one torturous second at a time.
My brows furrow at the thought, and my hands curl into fists. What I know is anger settles deep in my chest, threatening to boil over. There’s nothing I can do to make it stop, not without acknowledging why I feel rage toward a random man.
I need to get away from Valeria. Put some distance between us so she can stop getting in my head.
If I have to guess, she probably thinks someone has eyes on this place, waiting for the right moment to take her away. If I loosened my leash on her, she wouldn’t try to make a run for it. I can feel it deep in my bones that this is the best place for her to be.
With that in mind, can I do it? Can I let her go again?
Closing my eyes, I’m forced to think about all the time I spent trying to track her back down. When she ran away all those years ago, things were a little different. Stepping on another person’s territory was one of the most dangerous things someone could do.
Of course, she didn’t hide out in any of the neighboring cities. Somehow, she knew the boundaries and ran until she crossed them.
How many men did I kill while searching? How many of them couldn’t give me any answers to my demanding questions? How many trails did I chase before they went cold?
The fear was that someone would recognize her and scoop her up, using her as leverage or blackmail. Neither would have a happy ending.
I could let her go. Let her roam freely until she feels safe again. How much time would pass before she’s ready to leave again?
If another opportunity came her way, would she ask me to go with her? No, of course not. What a silly thought.
After everything I put myself through back then, I don’t want to. I want to keep her close and never risk another man getting his hands on her.
If I get my hands on her, will I be able to stop myself from losing control? That kiss against the fence tested my strength, and I barely had enough to pull away. If something like that happens again, I won’t be satisfied with just a kiss. I’ll want more.
I have no doubt about it. Valeria intends to ruin me, whether she’s aware of her actions or not.
* * *
My eyes linger on that door until they burn from forgetting to blink. The hiss of the shower is loud enough to make the wall separating us nonexistent.
She insists on showering every day because the scent of my room clings to her. I can’t smell anything, but she always wrinkles her nose when she nears my closet.
Tearing my eyes away to focus on something that isn’t the whispered lure to cave to the very same voice that pushed me to kiss her, I move to my closet and open the door. Breathing in, I expect to smell something absolutely foul.
Nothing inside stands out. Just my clothing is inside, alongside my boots against the flooring. Lifting them up, I see the crusted red marks beneath. Sniffing again, I realize I hardly even smell the blood.
Valeria’s not used to it. She doesn’t deal with dead bodies often. The one time she has fucked her up plenty.
I still remember the way she stiffened up when she first looked inside. All around her are reminders of what happened to her.
A week ago, I would have been thrilled. Since I couldn’t take her down below, my room could be her own form of torture. Now, things are far more complicated.
Deep inside, I’m not sure what I want is to make her suffer. I need something else, I just haven’t figured it out yet.
Taking the boots to the door, I set them down in the hallway. They’re the primary source of the scent as of right now, forcing the rest of the fabrics to soak up the scent. After a while, the smell should get better.
Just when I think I’m already doing too much, I glance at her clothing. She’s slept on her clothes, curled up against them like it’s better than the floor itself.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I sigh heavily and move to my dresser to make room. Then I make my life harder by taking care of her clothes.
Once I’ve finished, I curse myself for doing it in the first place. And like I haven’t learned my lesson, I pinch my shirt and sniff it.
The scent of blood clings to my skin like a cologne. Even if I showered twice a day and scrubbed my skin, would it make a difference?
Humming in the back of my throat, I consider my options. While I think, the door opens and Valeria steps out with steam drifting past her ankles.
She’s wearing a shirt that’s too big, the hem drifting a few inches above her kneecaps. Almost looks like nothing is beneath, but surely, she wouldn’t. If I have to guess, she’s wearing a pair of shorts that are going to test the extent of my imagination.
She frowns at the disappearance of her makeshift bed. Looking around like I would’ve moved the pile to a different corner, she goes as far as checking beneath my bed.
“I cleared a drawer in my dresser,” I explain as my patience runs thin. “Looking at your pile every day is an eyesore.”
Her brows pinch together, and there’s not an ounce of gratitude on her face. Too much confusion. “I don’t want to sleep on the floor. The clothes made it manageable.”
Looking over toward the corner, I remember how many nights she tossed and turned, groaning in pain in her sleep. I can’t say it’s too comfortable down there. Then my eyes move over toward my bed, and I take in the size. There’s enough room for two bodies, maybe even three. Plenty of space.
My hands curl at my sides, and I frown at her. “Keep your hands to yourself, and you can sleep at the foot of the bed.”
Her skin pinkens, and I can’t tell if it’s from my words or the scalding hot shower she’d just taken.
I don’t let myself linger for long enough to find out.
“Where are you going?”
“Taking a shower. Don’t think about leaving.” Especially not while wearing her current sleepwear. I don’t need any of the other males on the estate to take notice of her.
With the itch to kill burning in the back of my mind, I’d hate to see what would happen if I accidentally lost my patience with one of the many here.
This will be the first time I slip under the heat while she’s still awake. The chance of her disobeying is slim, I’m sure of it.
I’m putting my trust in her, and I can’t tell if it’s a good idea or not.
The more I think about it, the more muddled my head feels.
Unlike her, I don’t waste time standing beneath the stream. Washing my body, I’m quick with spreading the suds and washing away the day’s evidence. Once the water is running clear, I’m right back out.
I don’t like the unfamiliar sensation gnawing at my chest at the thought of discovering that she’s no longer in my room. Instead of letting it hold me back, I push open the door and expect the worst.
When I exit the bathroom, I find her spread across my bed; the blankets kicked at her feet, and a look of comfort on her face. It’s a surprise she hasn’t already molded to the mattress and fallen asleep.
My eyes are immediately drawn to her bare skin, and from here, I can see the pink shorts she’s wearing. Thank God.
Her face changes when she catches my stare, and I hear the sharp intake of air. “Oh.”
I feel her stare as I walk over to my dresser and pull out a pair of briefs. She’s not even trying to hide her curiosity.
“Please tell me you don’t intend to get dressed right there.” Her voice wobbles, and I can hear the hesitation.
“My room, I can get dressed wherever I please.” Turning to look at her, I take in the dark twin patches on her cheek as my free hand grazes the towel’s knot at my hip. “Up to you if you look or not. I don’t care.”
I’ve never been shy of my appearance, never giving a damn either. Never having a reason to need to impress anyone, I haven’t worked out any of my flaws.
I’m sure she can see all of the scars decorating my back, injuries I’ve received while distracted. My chest is just as decorated. Everything below the waist doesn’t look as bad.
Dropping the towel, I’m sure she’ll see that much if she doesn’t get all bashful.
Willing to bet she’s got her hands over her eyes, I pull them on and ditch my towel before making my way over to the bed.
I don’t put on more clothes. Without letting myself dig too deep into my actions, I choose to sleep in just my underwear tonight.
Getting on, I see that she’s done exactly what I thought she would. Blushing a bright pink, she sputters as her hands fall away.
“You can’t–”
“You are a grown woman. Stop acting like you haven’t shared a bed with a man before.” Growling out my frustrations, I yank the blanket up toward my body, covering hers at the same time.
“It’s different…” Murmuring the words, she sighs as I shut off the light. Taking away any reason for her to get flustered, I lay flat on my back and stare up at the ceiling.
Much to my dismay, I can’t help but wonder if I smell better. Will she put as much distance between our bodies as possible, or will the opposite play out?
Having her this close, I can hear the rate of her breathing. Despite giving her a comfortable place to sleep, she’s not relaxed. What is it now? Is it me?
After a few minutes, she shifts, restless.
“What is it?” I finally ask, taking in the outline of her body through the darkness.
At first, she doesn’t answer. Maybe she’s asleep, simply moving through her rest. For a moment, I almost fall for the thought. Then she turns her head to look at me.
The moonlight slipping through the curtain does damage that a blade can’t. Catching the faint outline of her in the dark—the curve of her shoulder, the way her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, I’m caught in awe.
This is bad.
“I can’t sleep.” She moves the blanket from her body like she’s too warm. Maybe that’s what it is, but from the way her body stirs, something else is at play here.
I exhale through my nose. There are ways to fix this. Another stroll through the garden. A mindless argument to burn off the energy. But then there’s the other option, the one that’s been sitting heavy in the back of my mind since she first climbed into my bed.
An option I shouldn’t even be considering to make a reality. It’s safer locked up in my head. But once I consider it, it’s too late.
It’s the same when I kissed her. Once I do something I can’t possibly take back, thinking becomes impossible. My body takes control, and I’m moving to solve this problem of hers.
I reach for her, fingers skimming the curve of her hip. She sucks in a breath but doesn’t pull away from my touch.
“Tommy—”
She’s warm. So fucking warm. My fingers trace the inside of her thigh, slow, deliberate, and her breath catches as I reach those little shorts. Made out of a thin fabric, I use the growing heat of what is between her thighs to guide me to my destination.
A part of me wants to turn on the light to see how pink she is now. Too embarrassed and bashful, I’m confident that there isn’t a chance that she could use her body as a tool or weapon to get what she wants.
When I touch her, it’s like she can’t function, either. She’s as hopeless as I am.
Keeping the light off, I tug her toward me and erase the space between our bodies. Breathing in, I smell my body wash clinging to her skin. Her entire body smells like me.
Humming in satisfaction, I lean closer to her as my fingers memorize the curves of her parts. Her hair tickles my nose, and my mouth is close enough to touch her temple.
“Tell me this shirt didn’t belong to another man,” I groan as I shove the hem of it toward her stomach.
She shakes her head, shivering when I pull at the little bow she tied for her shorts. “It’s mine. I, um, like how they feel.”
Silly thoughts fill my mind. I want her to wear my shirts. See the way they tickle her thighs and barely hide what’s beneath. If it takes washing them twice to get her to even consider, then I’ll make it happen.
Whispering my name, her breath catches as my knuckles scrape against the band of her shorts and the underwear she’s wearing beneath them.
So soft to the tough, I listen to her breathing grow faster as she lets me trace the line of her pussy between her underwear and shorts. The fabric is already growing damp, like she’s weak to even a few light strokes.
My body betrays me, my cock thickening as I make my way into shoving my hand inside. I don’t mind that I’m stretching out the fabric of her underwear, too focused on the way she whispers my name as she parts her thighs for me. Giving me all the access I need, she moans as I part her folds and find her clit.
Swollen and soaked, her pussy begs for more attention. As I breathe in her hair, I hook my leg around hers, spreading her wider.
Shame I can’t see her pussy through the darkness. Hearing how wet she is will have to be enough. With each tease of my fingers, I’m willing my heart to be quiet so I can hear just how slick her skin is as I sink one finger inside, soon adding a second.
I wasn’t planning on this. Wasn’t planning on the way her hips lift into my touch, wasn’t planning on the way my own pulse kicks up just from the way she breathes my name like a soft prayer.
“Fuck,” she gasps when I press deeper.
Yeah. Fuck.
Suddenly, it’s not just about tiring her out. It’s about the way her back arches when I curl my fingers just right. It’s about the way she bites her lip to keep quiet, like she doesn’t want me to know how I’m making her feel.
“Louder,” I growl, needing this more than I realized.
She shakes her head, too bashful. The hitch in her breath and the way her brows come together tease me to no fault.
Craving to hear her voice, I drag my thumb over her clit hard, and she breaks—a choked moan tearing from her throat, her fingers digging into my arm, making little crescent moons that will hopefully linger through the night long enough to let me see once the sun comes back up.
“Tommy—”
The curve of her body is my reward, followed by her thighs clamping around my wrist to keep me in place. As her release coats my fingers, I torture her further by spreading it and plunging my fingers deeper into her wet heat.
Every whimper that forms on her tongue fuels me to keep pushing. The sting of her nails digging deeper and deeper into my muscle means nothing. Rubbing her soft, wet walls until her legs are jerking, calves straining, and toes curling, I finally put her out of her misery with a second orgasm after the first.
Without thinking about it, I pull my hand back, plunging my fingers into my mouth. Craving to know how she tastes, I’m hit with a flavor of sweetness that makes my head spin. One lap of my tongue has me considering tearing off her shorts and underwear so I can lick her clean of such sweetness.
Valeria’s legs shake for several seconds, her eyes fluttering wearily, even after a few more seconds.
Once her juices are licked clean from my fingers, I catch myself leaning toward her to breathe her in. Adding her arousal to her scent, I inhale until I’m drunk on her scent.
Curling her back to me, neither of us speaks. Maybe it’s the shock of the whole thing, or my plan worked and she’s exhausted herself, but it’s better this way. My mind is too occupied to address everything wrong with what we’ve just done.
Staring up through the darkness, an unsettling realization overcomes me. Instead of yearning to make this woman suffer to fulfill my need for revenge, something else has snuck in, replacing it.
Recalling every whine and whimper, my blood runs hot. My cock begs for relief at the pressure building up, but I don’t dare follow through.
If I fuck her, there is no going back. The damage will be done and irreversible.
If she has any hopes of leaving, then I’d have a reason to be the bad guy by keeping her around.