19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Icouldn’t understand why Feebee wasn’t sitting at the table. Why she had pleaded with Nonna to let her eat in her room. She had heard the call, Nonna told me so. She wasn’t eating with us, either. They’d both heard all Damiano had said, and it had upset Feebee and pissed off Nonna. I didn’t even object when they set up Feebee’s dresser, preening it up as a cramped dining table of their own.
Feebee didn’t look hungry when I delivered dinner and drinks. All those nasty words floating around in her head pulled down her features, and when her head dipped before me, I noticed another fucking bald spot.
An elegant glass kissed my lips and a swig of Campari washed down my unappealing pasta. I looked through a wall of windows from the quiet dining room out to the field. No Trouble in sight, but the dug-up plants told me he had been here today.
“It will be okay.” Ethan’s mouth was full...and he was fucking talking...and it turned me fucking sick. “She’s not mad, just—”
My electronic voice cut him off. “It won’t be okay.” I continued typing. “It isn’t okay. I have a kidnapped girl living in my spare room.”
“Better that than Nonno’s cell.” Ethan laughed, his mouth finally empty, thank fuck.
“She shouldn’t be here. What the fuck was I thinking? She’s not Chandelle. I shouldn’t have taken her. It was a stupid idea that bit me in the fucking ass because I shouldn’t feel the way I do.”
“True. True. True. She should be at home with her family.”
My full gut twisted for many reasons, and I took another drink to calm it down.
“She isn’t Chandelle, and you shouldn’t have broken into her house in the middle of the night to bring her here. It still shocks me her father survived that night.”
“I told you he wasn’t home.” I took yet another drink.
“And you do know if you send her home, you’ll have to let him live? She needs someone to help take care of her.
“She’s quite independent.” I shrugged, more alcohol swishing down my throat. I topped up my glass, offering more to Ethan. A shake of his head told me he was done drinking for the night.
“She’s got no wheelchair or means to get up and down the stairs back home.” He looked sympathetic now.
“I can take care of that.”
“You really think she’ll want anything to do with you if you kill her father?” Ethan stood, hands grappling at his dirty dishes, collecting them on his way out. “She won’t. You know that.” He stopped at my side, his shadow darkening all my thoughts.
I didn’t look at him. My gaze drifted between the drink I swirled and the glowing moon outside.
“It would be over between you two. No chance...and deep down, I know you well enough to know you don’t want that. How this started doesn’t have to be how it ends. Maybe in some twisted way, the universe is giving you what Chandelle promised...her heart.”
He left, leaving me alone with too many thoughts and half a bottle of alcohol, and I used that bottle to drown them all.
I woke with my head on the shiny table, my empty glass shaming me as I lifted my heavy head. Nonna pattering around in the kitchen had interrupted sweet dreams of the past...of a life I once had. But the girl I shared those memories with wasn’t the one who held my hand in my mind’s eye.
Before I knew it, I was halfway up the stairs, with the Campari bottle gripped tightly in my fingers. I took the last sip as I rounded the top. Nonna’s little noises made their way up here, but they weren’t coming from behind Feebee’s door, where my gaze was locked.
Some kind of magnetic force pulled me forward, and I didn’t think about excuses, reasons, or consequences as I opened the door, sneaking in quietly. The lights were out, but the backyard light offered a little guidance.
She had a nice view from this room...my favorite view. The lake, the trees, nature...beautiful nature. A cruel taunt, as she’d been cooped up inside for weeks.
I brought the bottle to my lips again, feeling slightly annoyed when only a single droplet landed on my tongue. I turned from the window, my black shoe kicking something over.
She’d used one of my canvases...one of my gifts. I lowered to my haunches to examine the fallen painting. Luckily, it was dry, and the attack of fluffy carpet fibers could easily be brushed away without causing ruin.
Her design was beautiful, the perfect image of a broken heart. I felt its pain as my fingers dipped into the crack, all made deeper with artistic tools and sharp skills.
Feebee was the kind of artist I wanted. Someone with talent and emotion, putting both of those things into her art pieces.
I smiled, looking over to her on the bed, sheets pulled up to her throat, hiding whatever she wore beneath. I put the painting down...wanting to see more of her...needing to see more of her, and I made my way over to her.
She lay on her back, legs stretched out, her head tilted to the side, with her hair covering so much of her pretty face. I wanted to move it. To touch her. I wanted so many things that confused the fuck out of me.
And I felt sick with guilt because of them.
Had alcohol fogged his vision, or was I a better actress than I thought?
He thought I was asleep as gentle fingers pushed back my hair. My eyelashes fluttered, lowering closer to my cheeks so he wouldn’t see my deception.
I didn’t see him suck air in, but I heard him exhale as he drifted away, trailing the posts of my bed, the voile between his fingers. I felt colder without him. Lonely as he reached the door.
Silent wishes prevented him from turning the door knob. Another wish brought him closer. The bottle in his hand never made it to my bed as he slipped from his suit jacket, leaving all his concerns in the tweed pockets, now on the floor.
He sunk down beside me, not touching me. He made himself comfortable on a soft pillow.
I wish I knew what he was thinking. That silent wish was granted when a pen and Post-it left a note on my bedside table. It was barely readable in the dark, the red pen granting a small mercy on my eyes.
You have no idea what you do to me.
He changed his mind about leaving that message. His body pressed into mine as he leaned over me to collect it, scrunching it into a pants pocket. He smelled like an erotic dream, sweet tonka melting into creamy sandalwood.
I breathed him in.
The scent of him intensified as he unbuttoned the black shirt clinging to his body, losing it to the floor when the last button popped through a tiny hole.
My side-eyeing of him caused strain, but I didn’t look away as he pulled down his pants and kicked them and his shoes off.
His warmth wrapped around me, stiff muscles close. He breathed me in, taking in the mango scent fading from my hair. He hardened against my leg, and I had no idea until he indicated it by rocking his hips into me once.
Full lips pressed against my jaw, and my breathing hiked in response.
He stopped dead, pulling his lips away but moving his eyes closer. And, I, again, became the world’s best actress.
The mattress cushioned him as he rolled away. He lay there, staring at the ceiling. Long fingers pushed dark hair back and clung onto it in frustration. He had so much to say in the darkness, where no one could hear, but he wouldn’t—couldn’t—voice it.
I felt his gaze caress me again, the coldness of his icy blue eyes making my nipples pebble beneath the sheets. I wanted to know what he would do if he saw them. I discreetly shifted, causing the blankets to move down and away from my body. He froze, checking again to see if I was awake.
His boxer briefs were tented. His erection sprung from nowhere, lifting the waistband from his tanned Adonis belt.
His fingers rubbed over his crotch, his eyes on the rise and fall of my chest, hurt me...because it was her he wanted...the part of her I housed.
He pulled himself free, and my mouth fell open, a gasp rushing out. His head angled, checking my closed eyes again. Content with me being asleep, his fingers stayed at his cock, now free from its cotton prison.
My heart—his girl’s heart—raced to the rhythm of his fingers as they moved up and down his long length. Moonlight and some outdoor lamps granted a little light, allowing me to see his hand work his shaft.
Discomfort settled inside me, only there because my mind reminded me it wasn’t me he wanted...
And then his gaze lifted, stopping on my face...on the o-shape of my open mouth.
And that was all it took for my mind to be changed.
I wanted more. I wanted him.
I turned my neck, wanting no more of the nasty strain on my eyes. He reeled back, his body tensing, his mind racing to catch up with the excuses he didn’t plan.
But he didn’t need any. My head stayed lulled, and my eyes stayed dipped, angled low, perfectly in line with his cock and the little bead of precum shining in the moonlight. His thumb smeared it in over thousands of nerve endings. He made a noise—a moan, and my back arched.
His hand brushed up my leg, thinking I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t, but I secretly watched and fantasized what it would feel like as he moved closer to my panties, wettened by my swollen pussy.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t. I tried.
I failed.
What would I do if she woke up? I wondered, fingers trailing up her leg, pushing up her silky nightdress. I wished I could just say, you’re fucking mine, and I can do what the fuck I want with you. But that wouldn’t go over well and had me convinced I’d be the one working tomorrow with a black eye until…
Dampness kissed my fingertips, her panties soaked and stuck to her. A sleeping woman shouldn’t be so affected. I caressed her puffy pussy lips once, twice, three times, and her hand clasped around mine, holding me close, making sure I didn’t stop.
Pretty eyes fluttered open, lashes tickling my cheek because I moved in so fucking close. She stared up at me. No venomous questions left her lips, just little moans of want, of need, and of pleasure. Her eyes spoke the same language, a little desperation shining in the pretty flecks.
She looked like she would beg any second for it, and fuck, if she did, I’d be done for.
I’d fuck her all night.
Her mouth with my tongue, her tight cunt with my fingers and cock.
I rubbed her pussy harder, and she was licking her bottom lip and then biting it to keep in a moan.
Fuck. I was already done for.
Struggling with her delicate weight, she tried to push her body onto its side to face me. I slid my hands under her hips, neglecting my cock for a second to position her correctly. I pushed a knee between her legs, forcing them open.
Her tiny fingers moved to my cock, closing around it...almost. She jerked her wrist, the delicate touch feeling divine. She shook with the fear of rejection as my eyes dipped to her chest. She didn’t know I was monitoring her breathing, watching to ensure her excitement wouldn’t give her a heart attack, and not wishing for the heart pounding against me to be inside someone else.
There was no one else. Not in that moment.
I let my hand wander her body, moving up where she would feel it and not down where she wouldn’t. I slipped it under her dress. My fingertips met my eyes on her chest, moving to her breast, small and firm in my hand. Perfect nipples pebbled, showing her arousal.
“Mercer,” she whispered my name, letting me know the touch from my knee wasn’t enough stimulation. She needed stimulation. She deserved it. “Mercer...”
She squeezed me tighter, her fingernails dragging over the tip.
I twitched, loving the feel of her.
“Mercer,” her voice trembled from a tingle between her legs. I rubbed her again, two fingers sneaking beyond the satin.
I couldn’t resist the need to kiss her. And she felt it, her tongue popping out, sliding over my lips playfully.
I didn’t like being teased.
I needed more.
I needed to taste her on my tongue, and I couldn’t wait. I dove in, my tongue pushing through her soft lips. My fingers searched and found her clit, swollen with desire for me. She let out a small gasp, breaking free from my mouth.
No fucking way.
I leaned in, my mouth taking everything that left hers, gasps, kisses, moans, air...it was all fucking mine.
I was on her, two fingers dipping into her wet folds, delving into her tight, warm hole on the second stroke. Her fingers still clutched my throbbing cock, pumping it slowly.
My other hand gripped her face, harsh fingers ensuring she wouldn’t turn away again. My eyes stayed open, proving to her she was the only one I wanted to see.
Her fingers seized handfuls of my hair. Her pretty eyes stayed locked on mine as I finger fucked her slowly.
Come for me.
She was soaking. My fingers were fucking drenched, and there was a wet slapping sound echoing in the room as I pushed in and out of her.
Somehow, she pulled back, her pretty mouth silently saying, “I want you. I can’t help how I feel.”
I couldn’t respond, and she took my silence as emotional rejection...but as I kept pumping my fingers inside her, and she kept fisting my length, she knew that physically, I wanted her.
“I want you. You want me, too...but I’ll settle for whatever you’re willing to give me right now.”
My forehead collapsed on hers, our open lips and wet tongues finding each other again.
If only I could tell her what I wanted. That it was her and only her, in that moment. My eyes were still staring into hers, trying a new method of transmitting. I wanted to tell her that I wanted my cock stretching her tight cunt.
I wanted her pretty little mouth screaming my name as she came multiple fucking times. I wanted to tell her that that still wouldn’t be enough, and I wouldn’t let her move until she was full of my cum. I would continue to fuck her when she was full of my cum, pushing it deeper and deeper inside her. Into her womb...into her very existence.
The door opened, crashing into the wall and crushing all my dirty fantasies. I pulled my hand from inside Feebee and my shorts up over my ass, hiding it from Nonna, who didn’t notice me when she said, “Sorry, I was so long, Feebee.”
Feebee adjusted herself, a red flush and flustered smile on her face as she looked around me to the door.
I jumped from the bed, quickly gathering my clothes and using them as a shield to hide my erection from Nonna, who had now found me in the dark.
“What are you doing in here?”
I pointed to Feebee’s artwork—the broken heart that once resembled mine, trying to tell Nonna I came to admire it.
“Uh-huh, is that why you’re undressed?” Her raised eyebrows questioned me. Her intense, accusing stare was on me while Feebee moved across the bed, granting me the small mercy of not allowing my dear sweet Nonna to sit where I’d been fucking my own hand. She also had the decency to flip the sheet. She deserved another gift for that.
“Get out, you filthy man. I’ll be having words with you tomorrow. She’s sad. That’s why I’m here. I don’t want you taking advantage of her.”
Nonna’s feet—hidden in pink bunny slippers—took her around the bed, all without knowing I hadn’t taken advantage...because it was given freely.
I moved to the door, glancing once at the chipping paint we had both contributed to, and I tuned them out as Nonna said something to Feebee.
“Mercer,” Feebee interrupted their conversation, and the hold she still had on me pulled me back, my cock still twitching at the sound of her voice. “Goodnight.”
I nodded once, and I closed the door. My feet no longer cared about the creaky boards, and as I walked back to my room, I knew I wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.
Because I would be up all fucking night, bruising my unsated cock over thoughts of her.