Chapter 10 Mikail
MIKAIL
With her in my arms, everything else vanishes. My troubles are gone. My torment forgotten.
I don’t care that she’s off limits as my best friend’s little sister. I disregard the reasons I should stay away because I simply can’t any longer. Tonight has proven that it’s impossible to control my feelings for her. And I am too exhausted to fight the impossible.
Only she can calm me down while simultaneously freeing the beast. Her thoroughly punished ass is just proof of my darker side that I’ve tried to keep contained.
This woman deserves to be laid on a bed of silk and petals, not to be pounded into it. I am screwed either way because it doesn’t matter. She’s mine to make love to and fuck the soul out of her. Separately. Simultaneously. On repeat. For fucking ever.
I can still feel her wetness clinging to my fingertips, and my cock throbs with an incessant urge to take her.
What the fuck have I done?
I rammed the door to insanity. That’s what I did. I am not that delusional as to believe we can return to the way things were before. Putting a stop to us becomes a distant, flimsy thought.
A self-deprecating laugh erupts from my throat, and she senses the change in me. Her sigh hits me square in the chest.
I take a step back, needing to think. “I need you to go home.”
“Mika,” she tries, clutching my shirt as if she needs to hold on to me when I can’t escape her pull.
“Dahlia, please. Not now, baby girl.” My voice sounds pleading as I offer her a small smile of assurance.
I clap two times, and the metallic walls disappear back into the ceiling.
She nods and slips out while I brace my head, not knowing what to do.
It was hard looking at my brother and hiding what I felt for his sister, but now that I’ve crossed the boundary, it’s a thousand times worse.
Needing to know she’s safely escorted out, I move to the window. A smirk teases my lips as she squirms with every step. That will remind her who she belongs to.
It doesn’t take more than a few minutes before she leaves the club, followed by her personal guard, but not before seeking my eyes.
I give her what she wants. A nod of acceptance—of surrender. The prick will live. Both pricks, I guess.
Picking up my phone from my desk, I dial the asshole’s number. It takes three rings before Tristan answers.
“Leave my fucking city, or I’ll deliver you to New York in a casket.”
“Is that so?”
The fucker is too self-assured.
“Don’t fucking test me right now,” I snap, hanging up.
Dropping onto the couch, I study the two pics of her red cheeks and my handprints decorating her round, perky ass—fucking made for me.
She never ceases to surprise and amaze me.
How she whimpered, but never asked me to stop.
Maybe she instinctively knew I wouldn’t because I decide when she has enough—so submissive when I have my hands on her, such a firecracker when I don’t.
The perfect combination of sweet and sass—only with me.
Only for me. It’s not only if I can’t have her, no one else can.
I have to have her—it’s my prerogative because she’s mine.
When my best friend calls, I stare at his name flashing on the screen. Guilt assaults me, sucker punching me straight in the gut.
Of all the women, it had to be her. Must be fucking karma for leading the life I do.
“Any issues?” Enzo asks.
“I can take care of business. Just enjoy your fucking honeymoon and stop bugging me,” I groan, rubbing a palm down my face.
“Someone is in a mood. I know what will help. Getting laid.”
If he only knew.
My cock is still hard thinking of her softness. I wanted to unzip myself and shove myself inside her tight and wet core, sheathing myself in heaven. I guess I preserve a sham of control after all. But not for long. That’s for sure.
The fucker is with my sister, so it’s not like he stands on moral ground, but their situation and ours cannot be compared.
“You would know,” I grumble.
The sound he emits rings of a proud idiot in love. “Nothing compares to fucking the woman you love.”
I have a slight idea how it is, but I keep my mouth shut, glaring at my desk. Work will help. Because I can’t go to her in my weakened state, or she’ll take advantage.
“Have to go. One of us has to run the empire.”
“Fuck you.”
At my desk, I track shipments, confirming goods sent nationally and internationally arrive without issues.
I run the leading global shipping company.
Ensuring it stays that way demands full commitment and a firm grip.
There are no mistakes allowed. I expect excellence from my employees, and I apply the same rigorous approach.
I reward hard work, cutting loose anyone who can’t keep up with the demands and challenges.
By the time I am done supervising the various operations, it’s almost morning, so I grab my jacket and slip into my car.
As the city slowly awakens, I head to the compound, needing a few hours of sleep. I’ve always been a night owl.
Days bore me with the effort of keeping up the facade of following the rules. Nights have always excited me, enticing me to test how far I could go without being caught.
Sinners thrive in the dark, but the charlatans hide in the day. This world has no place for saints.
Marcella comes down the stairs, and when she sees me, she smiles brightly. Her smile always has a touch of concern and sympathy, making it obvious she knew what her husband did. I pretend I don’t notice that, enjoying her motherly care.
She walks toward me. Cupping my cheek, her brows furrow. “You should take better care of yourself. You need a wife.”
The only one I want as a wife, I refuse to make into one.
I wave the notion away, offering her a grin. “What woman could tame me?”
It was supposed to be a joke, but she pins me with a serious stare. “The one you’ve always watched over.”
For the first time, someone leaves me speechless.
“Come join me for breakfast.”
Reluctantly, I follow her into the dining room.
On the table, a breakfast spread waits for us—from scrambled eggs to boiled eggs, cheese and salami, a plate of pancakes, a fruit assortment, yogurts and jams. I prefer the savory, but Dahlia has a sweet tooth.
She tilts her head, eyeing me intently. “I know you love my daughter.”
I feel my brows furrow as I plate some scrambled eggs. “I don’t make a secret of that.”
“But can you love her the way she wants you to love her?”
I do. I could. I want to, but that doesn’t change our reality.
A deep sigh heaves my chest. “The women in our lives face loss. Loss of innocence, freedom. The gilded-cage lifestyle only ensures depression and destitution. I want better for her. And she’s Enzo’s sister.”
She waves me off. “My son made his choice and didn’t care about the consequences.”
“Selfish,” I say, digging into the fluffy eggs, the fork scraping the plate, the sound as jarring as my emotional state. “Dahlia is not Calla.”
She arches a brow, sending me a hard look. “Why should Dahlia when she has had you two watching over her. My daughter has lived all her life in a gilded cage. Have you asked her what she wants?”
I am terrified of the answer because it would change everything. Fuck, maybe I am a coward after all.
I scrub a hand down my face and continue eating, wanting this conversation over.
She places her palm on mine. “Running. Hiding. Ignoring. None of it will help.”
“It has to,” I say, ending the conversation.
We finish our breakfast in silence, and when she excuses herself, I watch her go into her sitting room, likely to read her romance book. I don’t want Dahlia to end up escaping into romance. I might be untouchable, but I am not immortal.
Climbing the stairs, I tiptoe into her room. The image welcoming me instantly puts a smile on my face, calming my demons like nothing else.
Plastered on her stomach, her long hair envelops her back like a black halo, her silk shorts barely covering her ass.
She appears so angelic, so peaceful, when I know a little daredevil lives in her who thrives on making a chaos of my tidy life.
I wouldn’t change it even though she most certainly will make me age prematurely.
Careful not to wake her up, I slip inside her bathroom and open the cabinet. Then I sit by her side and uncap the soothing cream.
I should have done it before she left, but I wanted her to feel the discomfort—feel me with every step and each time she sat. I am a sick bastard, and that’s one regret I don’t have.
The moment my palm connects with her cheek, she whimpers, her beautiful face scrunching up. She’s a deep sleeper because she physically exhausts herself until she drops like a dead weight.
A groan vibrates in my chest when I hear her whispering my name, knowing on a visceral level who touches her. The wet spot on her shorts drives me wild with lust. It takes everything in me not to slide them off her and shove my aching cock in her pussy.
Just to appease the monster, I give in to my hunger. With careful moves, I pull them down and swipe my thumb along her slit before sucking on it. Her sweet taste invades my taste buds, short-circuiting my rationality. She tastes of pure ambrosia and my ruin in one.
I am a goner. Nothing short of another mouthful could ever satisfy me.
Slowly rolling her onto her back, I lower my face and sweep my tongue over her pussy, flicking her clit—plunging into carnal urges.
Her hand shoots to my hair, and her eyes pop open. “What was that?” she asks, being so damn innocent—too pure for me.
“You tell me,” I say while still having my mouth between her legs.
A throaty sound vibrates in her chest. “It felt so good.”
Gripping her thighs, I spread her open. Making myself at home, I bury my face in her heavenly pussy to eat her to my heart’s content. This siren makes it impossible for me to unhear her call. Dragging me into her sensuous lair, I forget my damn mind.