Chapter 5
FIVE
DECLAN
It’s quieter than a fucking graveyard tonight. Normally, the bar isn’t the busiest place in the world on Thursday nights, but even my regulars are no-shows tonight. It’s almost as if they can sense my foul mood and have chosen to stay home instead.
After the meeting with my twin, it’s no wonder why I’m ill-tempered. Just the fact that he’s here doesn’t bode well for our current situation. And it sure as hell doesn't sit well with me that even though I’m no longer a part of the Morelli family, I’m still getting dragged into the middle of their goddamn war.
I know my brother is hiding something. Even if he says he’s doing this to save his little brother, I can see a darker shadow lining that little bit of truth. Just having him near forces me to remember some dark shit from my past. The last time I saw my brother, I was a bloody, trembling mess, on my knees begging my father not to take Alana from me.
A lot of good it did me.
Alana was a kind soul, one who should have never gotten mixed up with a monster like me. She was the daughter of one of the Morelli household maids, entering my life when I was sixteen and already tainted by the life I’d been raised in. She embodied everything I wasn't. Kind, beautiful, a gentle soul deserving of a much better fate than the one she received. An avoidable outcome that I imposed on her simply because she loved me.
You have to understand, being a direct descendant of Lorinzo Morelli is like being royalty in the underbelly of the society I grew up in. I was one of the king's princes on our side of the river. And a prince shall never lay with an “associate” for more than a good time, lest they forget their place in the hierarchy.
In the world I grew up in, you fuck for money, status, and power, not love.
But I never saw Alana as anything other than my equal. We bonded like dry soil and the first spring rain. Opposites in every way, but a seamless beauty when we came together. She was the little speck of light in my darkness. And after two years of sneaking around behind my father's back, he discovered our plans to leave the family and snuffed out that light in front of me, believing she was my Achilles' heel.
“Morelli’s never show weakness! La famiglia prevarrà!”
Echoes of my father screaming down at me as he held Alana’s life behind his blade rattle through my brain, causing me to clench my eyes shut to banish the words. The way he shouted our family motto as if it was supposed to make me see reason, assuming he would put me back on the path I never chose for myself.
“The family will prevail.”
Prevail over what? Over a senseless war I had no hand in starting? But now, with Romeo here, I have no choice but to fight in this battle between families yet again.
Although Rome never had a hand in her death, his face is still one I see in my nightmares. His hand may not have been the one that slit her throat while I was forced to watch, but they are the ones that held me back and let it happen. And when I look at him now, it only reminds me of how he refused to look at me then.
He may have been intentionally oblivious on that dark night, but he was still there to bear witness to the worst part of my life. He heard my desperate pleas for father to let her go, hindered me from stopping it, and listened to my anguished screams that now only exist within the depths of my soul.
Alana may have been the only one of us who was buried that fateful night, but a tattered piece of my soul was laid to rest right beside her.
I forcefully shake myself out of my memory before it consumes my entire being. Glancing at the clock, I groan at the time. Will this day ever end? It’s just after ten now, and I consider closing down early for the evening. But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I dismiss it.
I’ll close it down as soon as Sofee comes home.
I bite back my growl as I lean heavily against the bar, annoyed that I even feel the need to wait until the little brat gets back. When did I start referring to this clubhouse as her home? This isn’t her home; it's mine. She’s just a temporary guest. Only, here lately it seems as though she’s more than temporarily staying here.
I try not to think about how her staying here any longer makes my stomach do weird things. It’s like an odd cross between somersaulting and burning at the same time. Like some strange combination of thrill mixed with annoyance. When all I should be feeling for her is cold indifference.
I need to get her out of my mind and focus on the mission. We learned a lot of information today that should be at the forefront of my thoughts, but instead, I’m wondering when Sofee will be getting back.
I grumble and push away from the bar. After rounding the other side, I start flipping chairs on top of the tables. It looks like we’re not going to pick up anytime soon, so I might as well start cleaning up for the night.
I glance around the empty bar I’ve called my home for the past fourteen years. Hoisting a chair up and flipping it over on top of the first table, I replay today’s meeting over in my head again. I’d like to say that Rome is full of shit, that he’s grasping at straws. But if I know one thing about my twin, it’s that he never lies. He may be a criminal, no matter how you spell the word, but he’s always honest.
Why would he need to deceive anyone when the truth is far more frightening than any lie?
Although he wasn’t exactly transparent about his motives, I did believe him when he said our enemies had caught up with us. Now, we’re forced to either make a play on the offensive or wait until something happens. And as much as I hate the thought of working with my brother again, I can’t just sit around and wait for Matteo to make his move on the MC. Or worse, for him to make one on Sofee.
I briefly wonder if her shadow for the night is keeping a close eye on her. I know Hayden is fully capable of doing his job, but ever since Rome told us about Pelosi, I’ve been doubting some of my MC brother's abilities. Which is stupid. I’ve been on countless jobs with Ken by my side, and logically, I know there are few people better suited for the job than him.
But that doesn’t stop my primal urges from bubbling to the surface. That animalistic beast inside me wants to protect the small female himself. It roars and thrashes at the thought of someone else taking care of its woman.
“Stupid, fucker.” I curse at myself, as if the beast is anything other than a part of me. Picking up another chair, I place it on the tabletop and internally scold myself.
I need to stop thinking about her, stop stealing glances at her when she’s around and nobody’s watching, especially with Rome sniffing around. If anyone will be able to pick up on my feelings toward her, it’ll definitely be my twin.
We were raised in the same world, by the same people, but still couldn’t be more different. Our features and build may be the same, but that's where the similarities end.
Even though he expressed interest in Sofee, Romeo always favored taller, willowy women. The type of women who look like they can suck your soul right out of your body and you would smile while letting them do it. Those types of women who others model themselves after. The ones who grace the covers of magazines and inadvertently make other women feel poorly about themselves. Those are Rome’s type.
As my brother so kindly pointed out, my type has always been the exact opposite. While he appreciates straight lines and sleek muscles, I’ve always been drawn to curvier women with a heaping scoop of softness. The ladies who carry a little extra cushion on their hips, providing something for me to grab onto as I slide inside of them from behind. I’ve never been interested in slim and trim women and have always sought out the perfectly imperfect ones.
When I hold a woman in my arms, I want to feel her curves meld into me. To feel her lush tits against my chest and the way her ass jiggles against my palm when I spank it. I need to feel her thick thighs clamp around me as I’m making her come. The best set of earmuffs a guy could ask for.
My dick throbs behind my zipper as I imagine the one set of thighs I want wrapped around my skull. The juicy ass cheeks I want to spread apart so I can fully devour every inch of her delicate flesh. The soft swell of her belly I crave to see as she kneels for me, salivating for my cock. I can practically feel how soft and wet she’d be for me, waiting and begging for me to fuck her.
I’m so lost in my erotic daydreaming that my hand slips as I’m putting a chair on the table. It slides off, banging loudly on the ground and landing on my toes.
“Son of a—” Hissing, I kick the chair off my foot and it clatters loudly to the ground. My toes are throbbing as much as my dick now. I groan and start to pick the chair back up when I hear the bar door ding open. Quickly placing the chair back onto the floor, I shove it against the table before turning around.
As if my thoughts conjured her, Sofee shoves through the door. She’s still wearing the same maroon-colored scrub pants from this morning, but her top is now off. I suck in a sharp breath as I take in her white tank top that does a shit job of hiding her winding curves and creamy cleavage. I feel a tingle at the base of my spine as I take her in.
She looks hot, and not just the usual fiery attractiveness I find in her. A thin sheen of sweat covers her exposed golden skin that has me gulping my drool. Her hair is mostly up, a few rebellious strands refuse to be controlled though as they frame her delicate face. She breathes heavily, drawing my attention to her heavy breasts. I can make out the faint outline of her peaked nipples beneath the light top, tempting my fingers to pull the thin fabric the rest of the way down and expose her completely for my hungry gaze to gobble up.
She looks around the room and swipes at her forehead, pushing her dark curls away from her face. For a moment, I’m rendered motionless by her beauty. That is, until she finally catches sight of me. At first, she looks taken aback, as if she didn’t expect me to be here. Then her expression flattens, and with it, so does my mood.
“Oh, it’s you,” she mutters as she steps further into the room.
I mask my raging lust with a deep scowl. “Sorry to disappoint,” I grumble as I step away from the table and walk back toward the bar. She stands directly in my path, so I brush past her angrily and try to hide my deep inhale as her scent briefly surrounds me. Fucking rose petals. I honestly don't know if my erection can get any harder at this point.
I step behind the bar as she sighs. “I didn’t mean it like—” she shakes her head. “Never mind. Have you seen Hayden? The A/C in my car isn’t working anymore, and I wanna see if he’ll look at it for me.”
He’s supposed to be watching you, Brat.
I shake my head and say nothing. She sucks her teeth in frustration. Good, now we’re both irritated. However, my frustration has nothing to do with her car and everything to do with the lack of sexual contact over the last few months.
It’s my own fault, really. I haven’t taken a woman home in a long time. Every time I’ve thought about it, picturing Sofee in the room across from mine always had me reconsidering. That, and the thought of fucking some random woman does nothing for me. Like, absolutely nothing. Not a single twitch. It's as if my dick only responds to one woman anymore. And she’s the only woman I refuse to let myself have.
Just go upstairs for the evening. I internally plead with her. Please, please, please, just leave the room before I do something stupid like throw you down on this bar and bury my face in your cunt.
“Great,” she mutters as she adjusts her heavy bag over her shoulder. She starts to walk toward the stairs, and I force myself to look away, a curious combination of victory and disappointment churning in my gut.
I'd never admit this, but I like it when she argues with me. And for some reason I can't fathom, I’m disappointed when she walks away from me. Just as she takes the first step up stairs, she stops suddenly, and I can practically hear the gears turning in her head as she contemplates her next move. Then, without a word, she veers away from the staircase and heads toward the bar.
Fuck.
I watch her with the eyes of a predator as she comes closer. My gaze locks onto the way her thick hips sway, forcing me to clench my fists at my sides to stop myself from reaching out and grabbing her. She’s not even trying to be sexy as she slides onto the barstool in front of me; she just is. Everything about her screams S-E-X, and I’m the fool who can’t think of anything else but taking her here and now.
She shrugs her stuffed backpack off her shoulder and sets it on the seat next to her. A bright pink paper barely sticking out from the top catches my attention, and I furrow my brows. Once she’s situated, she places her arms in front of her on the bar and leans forward, drawing my attention to her tits pouring out of her top.
I smother another groan along with the urge to rub my palm against myself as fantasies of her pressing the heavy globes together while I fuck them flash behind my eyes. My skin suddenly feels too tight as I tear my gaze away from her creamy flesh.
“Can I have a bourbon? Neat, please.” Her husky voice gains my attention, and I find myself watching her mouth. My breath stutters in my chest as a pink tongue darts out from behind her pouty lips to moisten them before disappearing again.
Oh my god. I’m going to cream in my pants like a preteen seeing boobs for the first time.
I suck in a steadying breath as I turn my back to her. Get your fucking shit together, Morelli. She asked for a glass of bourbon, not for me to act like a perv who doesn’t know how to control himself. And she even said please, a rarity when speaking to me. The way she said it makes me want to force the sweet word from her lips again. Maybe this time while she’s kneeling in front of me, begging for my cock.
My hands are shaking as I grab the bottle of Jim Beam and pour two fingers into a glass. I steady my breath and turn back around, placing it on the bar in front of her. Then she does something that pisses me off as much as it turns me on. She smiles at me.
Sofee is a stunning woman in every sense of the word. Everything about her, from the color of her inky ringlets to her cocoa brown eyes, all the way down to her pretty little toes that she likes to paint red. But when she smiles? Fuck . When she smiles, she becomes so radiant it’s hard to keep looking at her. As if you look for too long, her sheer beauty will blind you.
And even though I would love nothing more than to have that smile directed at me for the rest of my life, I need to make her stop. I need to remind her why she shouldn’t ever give me her smiles.
They're only wasted on a degenerate like me.
As if she heard my wish, she presents me with the perfect opportunity to banish that smile.
“Oh,” she eyes the glass of amber liquor in front of her. “I just figured you'd know which one I was wanting. Can I have the bottle of Cormiers? It tastes better than this.” She curls her nose up in the most adorable way while pushing the glass back toward me. The crinkles along the bridge of her nose should not turn me on as much as they do.
Snap the fuck out of it, man. Make her leave before you do something stupid.
“No,” I say flatly. She flinches back as though I struck her with the one word, and just like that, I know she won't be smiling at me anymore this evening. I knew from the moment the word “bourbon” left her tempting lips which bottle she was talking about. But serving her the cheap shit instead of what she really wants serves my mission to piss her off.
“No?” she repeats.
I say nothing as I raise my eyebrows at her. She hates it when I do this. Not giving her an explanation for my actions is half the reason she’s always pissed at me. And as long as she's angry with me, she'll keep her distance.
“Why?” she growls. I roll my eyes in a very juvenile display that I know she hates. And when she narrows her scowl at me, I know I’ve achieved my goal.
I cross my arms and lean against the counter opposite the bar, still facing the angry female on the other side. “That’s Li’s bottle of bourbon.” I shrug.
The intensity in her eyes sends a thrill through me. Maybe it makes me sick, but getting under her skin is almost as satisfying as fucking her. And since I can’t fuck her, this is the only relief I'm willing to give myself. Well, this and wrapping my fist around myself in the privacy of my apartment.
Which I will be doing by the end of the night.
“So? He isn’t going to care if I have one glass,” she argues.
“Aren't good little sisters supposed to ask big brothers for permission before taking something that doesn't belong to them?” I ask with an exaggerated pout, feigning ignorance.
Now's the moment I see if she’s going to take the bait I’ve laid out so nicely for her. Will she bite back or simply let it go? This is the part I love the most. The anticipation of a good fight is almost as good as foreplay.
There is definitely something wrong with me.
She squints her eyes as her lips twitch in anger. “I don't need to ask permission from anyone to do as I like.” Her eyes trail down my body in an assessing gaze before her lip curls as she pointedly stares at my crotch, making sure I notice her looking at my dick before trailing back up to my eyes. “Least of all from men who are overcompensating for something,” she challenges with a quirked brow as she raises her fist and waves her little pinky finger my way.
Oh, how I’d love to punish that smart mouth of hers.
I try to smother my grin as fire licks my spine. “You keep throwing that insult around like you want me to prove you wrong,” I growl in a low tone, failing to suppress my raging libido.
“Ha!” she barks, tilting her head back with an exaggerated fake laugh. My gaze snags on the long line of her throat and I tighten my jaw, gnashing my teeth at the thought of getting the delicate flesh behind my lips. She meets my gaze again. “I think I've had enough disappointment for one night; don't need to add to the list,” she taunts and then smiles a cocky grin as my eyes flare in response to her jab at my manhood.
No longer able to help myself, I lean forward, slowly moving closer to her, ensuring that she won't misinterpret my next words as anything other than a dark promise.
"Trust me, Brat. My cock would be the least disappointing thing you suck past your lips tonight,” I say, reveling in the way her pupils dilate and lips part on a breathy gasp. I smirk and push the glass of bourbon back toward her. “Now stop fucking arguing with me. Either drink what I gave you or go to bed like the good girl we all know you are,” I say with a smug smile. Her eyes flare with a fire that’s indescribable, and I feel my cock jump with that one look. I can only imagine what she looks like in the throes of passion, but I guess she looks something close to this.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly as her eyes narrow once more. The steady thump of the pulse in her neck ticks up slightly as a reddish flush creeps up her chest. She despises it when I tell her what to do, which is precisely why I do it.
When you find it challenging to resist the object of your desire, it helps if you ensure that she wants absolutely nothing to do with you.
“You know what?” she huffs loudly. I quirk an eyebrow at her, not voicing my answer. She looks as though she’s about to explode until she does something I don't expect.
She deflates.
This is usually the part where we call each other nasty names until she storms out. Afterward, she leaves me alone for a few days. But this time is different. This time her shoulders sag and the scorching anger dulls in her brown eyes. She grabs the glass of bourbon and slides it back toward her slowly.
“Forget it,” she mumbles as she picks up the glass and sips the dark liquid. Her eyes pinch slightly at the burn I know is coating her throat. Then she replaces the glass filled with cheap bourbon and starts picking at her thumbnail, her brows drawn together.
I’m not sure what to do anymore. She’s never given up mid-fight with me before, and I’m stunned as I search for my next move. Something has her up in arms tonight, and I feel the overbearing urge to ask her what’s wrong. But I can’t do that. Otherwise, it gives the impression that I actually care about her. And I can’t have her thinking I feel anything other than animosity toward her.
But, as if there’s a disconnect between my thoughts and my mouth, the moment I look at her downtrodden expression again, I blurt out the words before I can recall them.
“What's up your ass tonight?" I ask, nearly rolling my eyes at myself.
Smooth move, Ex-Lax.
Her sad eyes flicker to me. "Nothing," she lies.
"Bullshit. I know something's up," I say with a frown, not sure why I can't seem to stop my inquisition. She scoffs as if my words are anything but the truth.
“How would you know anything?" she snaps.
"Because I know you." Warning bells ring in my mind. I’m getting too close to revealing way too much, but for some reason, I can't stop myself. I need to know what's bothering her.
"You don't know anything about me," she snarks, a deep V forming between her brows.
"I know more than you think, Brat,” I say, understating that little bit of the truth. The moment she rolls her eyes, I realize I’ve lost control over myself as my next words tumble from my lips against my will. “I know you have a small scar on the bottom of your chin," I blurt as I uncross my arms and step up to her.
Her gaze tracks me as I reach out without thought and grasp her chin between my thumb and index finger. Swallowing thickly, I find the small divot at the bottom of her chin and run my knuckle over it. Her eyes widen as her lips part with a soft breath. My eyelids droop as I stare at them, wondering what they taste like.
Stop fucking touching her.
Remembering myself, I frown and drop my hand. Clearing my throat, I resume my position across from her, crossing my arms over my chest to stop myself from touching her again.
"You got it from falling off a deep freezer in your grandmother's garage,” I rasp as if I haven't used my voice all night. “When you were eight years old, you and Liam thought it would be a good idea to jump off it while holding hands. He jumped, you didn't," I mutter.
She touches her chin as she stares at me, a dazed expression clouding her chocolate eyes. "Liam told you that?"
Technically, Liam was telling the story to Tanner, and I just happened to be eavesdropping. And like a fucking stalker, I couldn't stop myself once I heard her name being spoken.
Rather than giving myself away, I simply nod and stay silent. Her fingers play against her scar as she contemplates her next words. And when a spark of playfulness flutters against her lips in the form of a grin, I know I’m not going to like what comes out of her mouth next.
"That’s not fair." Her eyes twinkle with mischief as she stares up at me. The look causing my balls to tighten in response. “You have the inside scoop on my life just because you're best friends with my brother. I should get to know something about you,” she says as she lifts her glass to her lips and takes another tentative sip. I bite back my chuckle as her nose curls in the cutest way. She shakes her head.
“Tell me something I don't know about you. Shouldn't be hard since you're as chatty as a steel trap, and I know virtually nothing about you other than the fact that you're an asshole."
Her words have a smile creasing my lips, and I laugh despite myself. And when I do, her smile brightens tenfold. Goddamn , she is so fucking gorgeous when she smiles.
And if she knew anything about you at all, that smile would vanish in mere seconds.
The thought is a jarring reality check I needed, and just like that, my smile vanishes as bloody memories resurface. If she had even a hint of how dark my past really is, she would run out of here screaming bloody murder. She’s too innocent for my world, a fact proven by the dead girl in my past. As I clench my jaw and keep my lips tightly sealed, her smile falters, the sight driving an iron spike right through my chest.
But then the sad little gleam in her eyes turns molten. Her lips thin as a scowl settles across her beautiful face. She swirls the glass of bourbon around in front of her, diverting her angry gaze toward her hands.
“Forget it,” she scoffs. “I forgot you’re just another guy in my life who thinks I'm too fragile to actually talk about anything real,” she murmurs into her glass as she takes another sip.
I tighten my arms against myself to keep from reaching out to her. Seeing the way she deflates makes me want to console her, even though I have no right to do so.
Her phone trills, diverting her attention from my refusal to answer and directing it toward her backpack. I watch as she stops fingering the rim of her glass and reaches for her bag. She rummages through the overstuffed monstrosity as she searches for her phone. My eyes are drawn to the severely crinkled hot pink package once more, and the question slips out of my mouth before I can reel it back.
“What’s in the bag?”
All at once, she stills as if I’ve asked something I shouldn’t have. I watch as she hurriedly shoves everything back into her bag, completely forgetting about her phone. Her nervousness makes me want to smile, but I squelch the urge as she faces me again, a deep blush staining her tanned cheeks.
“Nothing— a birthday gift from a friend at work,” she says in a rush as she picks up the glass again and takes another sip, her eyes tightening.
I furrow my brows. “Your birthday isn’t for another month,” I say and immediately want to kick myself.
She stills again and slowly locks her gaze on mine. Her mouth falls open with the breath she sucks in. “You know when my birthday is?” she asks softly.
Wracking my brain for an answer, I feign aloofness and shrug as if it’s no big deal. “I overheard Liam talking about it,” I lie so easily. Liam hasn’t said a damn word about her birthday. I know when it is because I have a compulsive need to know everything about this woman.
Confusion mars her brow, but I turn my back to her before she has a chance to say anything else. I’m having a hard time composing myself tonight, and if I keep looking at her, I’m afraid of what I might do.
But even as I face away from her, I can still see her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She stares at my back, so I pretend to clean the already sparkling countertop. When she finally looks away from me, I almost breathe a sigh of relief. That is until she picks up her glass again and takes another sip. This time, the tightening around her eyes spreads across her beautiful face. She crinkles her nose again and clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Shoving the mostly full glass away from her, she slides off the stool.
“I’ll just buy him another bottle,” she grumbles as she starts to walk around to my side of the bar.
I turn back around and watch her as she quickly steps up to me. I’m confounded by her bravado as she goes up on her tiptoes and reaches for the shiny bottle full of Cormiers’ house bourbon. She lengthens her body as she stretches next to me, her supple tit brushing my arm in a way that has my mouth watering as she grabs for the bottle. Her warmth seems to surround me as surely as her decadent scent. And all at once, everything comes crashing down. The suffocating weight of my need for her mixed with her being so close like this makes all of my good sense go flying out the window. And without worrying about the repercussions of my actions any longer, I rush her.
Her shocked gasp of breath is cut off as I press my body against her much shorter frame and snatch the bottle from her hand. Scowling down at her, I grip my other hand around her throat and spin her until her ass is pressed against the counter and I against her front. The bottles behind her rattle against one another as I ensnare her like a moth drawn to a flame. Her pulse hammers rapidly beneath my fingers as I squeeze ever so slightly. Her pupils dilate as she breathes heavily and stares into my eyes. I see fear coiling tightly around a thrill of excitement staring back at me.
That little voice in the back of my head that tells me this is a bad idea is only a whisper in comparison to the blood rushing to my ears, blocking out everything besides the sounds of her hurried breaths.
“You want a drink of this bourbon?” I ask the question that requires no answer as I bring the bottle to my lips and use my teeth to pull out the cork. I spit it onto the ground and let my full darkened soul reflect in my eyes as I gaze at the small female pressed against me. Her panicked stare flicks rapidly between my lips and the bottle. A shiver runs down her spine, and my cock throbs between us in response.
I only pull my penetrating stare away from her long enough to press the bottle to my lips. Tilting it back, I take a big gulp of the smoky, amber bourbon. I don’t swallow as I lower the bottle, feeling a dribble fall from them and land against her naked cleavage between us.
Slamming the bottle onto the counter, I move my now free hand toward her tangled locks. Threading my fingers into the silky strands, I grip a handful in one harsh move. Her gasp is enough to tell me how much she enjoys my rough show of dominance as I pull her head back.
My cock is pulsating so hard there’s no way she can’t feel it thumping against her stomach as I grind myself against her. At this point, I can’t help myself, she feels so fucking good. So soft.
I continue to pull her head back exactly where I want her, while my other hand travels up from her throat. Digging my fingers into her jaw, I force her to open for me. Once I have her exactly where I need her, I lean over until my mouth is mere fractions of an inch away from hers. Then, I spit the rich liquor past her waiting lips.
Her eyes widen at the first taste of the warm bourbon, but before I can blink, she gulps to catch up. She has to swallow quickly to keep up with the sheer amount I’m spitting into her mouth. I feel a small stream against my fingers as it trickles from the corner of her lips before she can swallow it all.
When my mouth is empty, I pull away just to catch the remaining liquor escaping her lips before it can drip down to her tits. I flatten my tongue and place it against her liquor-soaked chin. The rich bourbon mixed with the taste of her hits my taste buds, immediately making me fucking addicted. And goddamn if I wouldn't gladly become an alcoholic for her.
Starting at the tiny scar below her chin, I lap her with one long swipe until my tongue meets her lower lip. I don't even attempt to control my primal urges now as I suck that plump appendage into my mouth and bite down until I taste the metallic tinge of her blood. She whimpers and squirms against me, her hardened nipples scraping against my chest and coercing my hand to travel lower than her throat.
I release her now bright red lip so I can see the moment her eyes light with fear and lust as my hand travels to her breast. But instead of seeing her big brown eyes clouding with desire, I'm met with my own animalistic violet gaze in the mirror behind her. The stare from a tainted soul. The true monster who lurks under my skin, willfully ruining the innocent woman in my arms.
Fighting myself for control, I rip my gaze away from the savage man in the mirror and press my cheek against hers, my mouth inches away from her ear. I’m seconds away from tearing the clothes from her body and fucking her right here on this goddamn bar. But by some stroke of self-control I had no idea I possessed, I stop myself.
“Go to bed, Sofee,” I snarl against her as I bare my teeth.
The shiver that climbs up her body rocks me to my very core. I force my hands to drop from her, but not before I push her away from me. My touch is rough, but I can’t help it anymore. I need her to get the fuck away from me. Now .
Like the smart girl she is, she stumbles around the bar and clumsily grabs her bag. I refuse to let myself look at her, but I hear when her feet hit the stairs. She runs up them quickly, and the moment her door closes, I snatch her discarded glass of bourbon and hurl it across the room with a roar of fury.
The glass explodes against the wall, and the thick liquor splatters everything in its path. The shattered fragments of glass serving as a physical representation of how it feels to be me. Broken and unsalvageable.
I want to scream, rage, and beat the shit out of someone. What the hell was I thinking? There’s no way she won't run to her brother and tell him exactly what kind of sick bastard his best friend is.
In the span of two minutes, I've managed to assault a girl I have no right to touch and ruin the best friendship I’ve ever had.
I clench my eyes shut as if I can block out my reality. True to the Morelli name, I’ve ruined yet another thing I’ve touched.