57. Basilio
Basilio
T he image of Wynter naked against the wall, her skin flushed by her arousal, burned in my brain. I was hard as a rock and ready to take her. After nine months of dreaming and fantasizing about her, she was finally in my grasp, and I was determined to make her mine. Brand her. Fuck her senseless.
Yet, it was all wrong.
Her eyes, the color of cool lakes, watched me with so much distrust it fucking tore at my chest. There was no trace of that look she used to have for me. Blind trust was gone.
Fucking bullshit.
She left me without a backward glance. I felt fucking crazy over the last nine months imagining her hurt, tortured, or dead.
I waited for an explanation. It never came.
My father was a sadistic, lying snake so asking him was out of the question.
I tried Angelo and that led nowhere. I suspected he withheld information, but short of torturing it out of him, he wouldn’t disclose it.
Still, my cock wanted inside her tight, wet pussy. It didn’t care about the reason. Just her. She was mine, from the very moment she landed in my arms. And I’d burn this whole motherfucking world down to keep her. Nobody would take her away from me again.
In my own bedroom, I laid down in my bed, silently cursing myself for taking it so far. Now I was rock-hard and risking getting blue balls. Except the need to touch her was an itch that demanded to be scratched. I had to feel her soft skin, or risk losing my goddamn mind.
So I succumbed to the temptation. And now, restlessness ghosted under my skin, demanding I go back and take her.
Fuck me. Dante was right all along. I was way too hung up on Wynter. I was so deep into her I didn’t know the way up.
This woman fucked with my brain and my heart. But she was mine now and there was no chance I’d ever let her go. She had a body I wanted to bury myself in, but most of all, she had a soul that I wanted to consume.
She gave me lust. She gave me her body. But it wasn’t enough.
I would take all that she promised me.
* * *
Getting sleep tonight would be a moot point.
So I laid in my bed, wearing just my boxers, my head against the stack of pillows and my eyes locked on the skylight. The dark sky was full of stars but all they fucking did was remind me of her. The girl that slept in the room within my reach; the girl I wanted to consume.
The tension itched my skin, demanding I get a release. My cock wanted to be inside her tight, wet entrance. My own personal haven.
I took my cock in my hand, imagining Wynter’s soft hands wrapped around my dick.
She’d pump up and down, too gently at first, but I’d show her how to do it harder.
I squeezed my dick hard, pumping it up and down, stroking it and all the while images of Wynter writhing underneath me in pleasure flashed through my mind.
A board creaked, tension shot through me before I reached for my gun and opened my eyes.
I found Wynter staring at me with wide eyes, her lips parted.
I stilled, wondering how long she stood there. I didn’t even hear the goddamn door open.
“How did you get in here?” I grumbled.
She padded towards me, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. God, those long, lithe legs would be the death of me.
“I- I don’t want to sleep alone,” she whispered, licking her lips and her breathing slightly ragged.
My desire flooded my veins and my cock throbbed painfully. Fuck, this was the wrong time for her to seek me out. My control hung by a thread.
“Principessa,” I murmured, unable to turn her away.