Salvatore
I fall apart when I see her standing on the sidewalk, bag in hand, staring into space.
I pull up alongside her, grab her bag and practically shove her into the car before she does something stupid and runs away.
Ophelia has been in a vulnerable place for a while, but tonight, everything has been heightened.
For a while now, she seems to have been searching for herself after losing her mother, clinging onto the first person who felt like home.
I feel like home to a lot of people, but that’s only because I have what most people don’t. Money does indeed make the world go around for a lot of people.
But not for Ophelia.
She isn’t clinging onto me for money, but because I see her as something different.
And she is the most fucking special person I have ever come across. Fuck the New York governor, the politicians, the philanthropists; the billionaire CEOs who live double lives.
None of us are special.
Ophelia on the other hand? She deserves everything. If technology was advanced enough, I would sell my business to reincarnate her mother to make her happy.
I will never truly make her happy, but I can help protect her from the Crows leader.
And if this man is truly her father, he can expect a beating from me. One he won’t survive.
I scan my key card, entering the parking garage. Ophelia still hasn’t said a word to me, still curled up on the passenger seat, staring through the side window.
She sits up as we enter my level in the parking garage, scanning the surroundings.
I swing into a free space and step out of the vehicle, locking up with her bag slung over my shoulder.
“Here,” I offer her my hand, which she accepts after some silent debating.
“I saw the black Toyota again.”
“When?”
“When I got out of the taxi.” Ophelia stares into space, looking like she’s seeing a ghost… or life for what it truly is. “My father has been sending me different warnings.”
“Perhaps,” I say, guiding her out of the parking garage, into the elevator.
“No, seriously. First, he sends me to an investigative journalist who tells me to stay away, now this?”
“And you’re sure all your mother’s belongings are gone?”
“The burglar cleared out all the boxes.”
“Fuck,” I say, grinding my jaw as we walk into the elevator. “What about the drawing?”
“Probably gone too,” says Ophelia. “I was in the middle of a mental breakdown by that point.”
“This new leader is finding all the evidence,” I say, thinking out loud. “Trying to prevent leaks.”
“What about the Queens unit?”
“That will be next. Luckily, David already cleared that out.” I turn and face her in the elevator, our bodies inches from touching. “Look, sweetheart, David looked through the other items left in the unit. There were some journals, along with that photograph of your father.”
“How can we be sure Ben is my father?”
“Your mother had only ever been with Ben, according to the journals,” I explain. “David has them locked in a safe, but I can get them for you.”
“No,” says Ophelia, bursting through the elevator door as soon as it slides open. “I don’t want them.”
“According to David, there’s nothing unpleasant in the journals. Your mother wrote poems about your father, reflecting on their love.”
“Reading them will only rub salt in the wound.”
“Fair enough,” I say, unlocking the door to my apartment, guiding her inside. “Let me show you to the bedroom. It’s late.”
I walk upstairs with her bag, showing her into the master bedroom.
“Impressive,” she mutters, appearing in the doorway behind me. “Add one more cushion onto the bed and you’ve got yourself a pillow fort.”
“I like the cushions,” I say, strolling into the bedroom. “And this side of the bed. I always sleep nearest to the door.”
I feel Ophelia stiffen behind me. The lack of words coming out of her mouth tells me she is uncertain about something.
“Is there a problem?” I say, turning around to meet her gaze.
She steps back through the doorway, out of the room. “I’m not sharing a bed with my boss.”
“Technically, it’s after hours, so I’m not your boss.”
“I’m under a contract.”
“And under orders… from your boss.” I wink at her.
She doesn’t find that very funny.
“The bed is a king-size. Plenty of room to stretch out.” I narrow my eyes down on her. “But if you feel more comfortable, I can sleep on the couch.”
Ophelia bites her lip, looking between me and the bed. After a beat of silence, she responds: “Yeah… I appreciate that. Thanks.”
“Great,” I say, opening the cabinet to grab a spare set of bedding.
In closing the cabinet door, walking out of the room, I collide with Ophelia as she walks in.
“Apologies,” I say, reshuffling the linens under my arm. “I should pay more attention to where I’m going.”
“Totally…” says Ophelia, her gaze lingering for a dangerous amount of time.
Her soft lips part, her expressive blue eyes looking up at me in question, like I have all the answers. I don’t have anything. All I have is a dangerous amount of love for her.
And when you love someone, you should love them from afar. Distance is cleaner, and it causes fewer casualties.
But my natural instinct is to step closer, abandon the linens and kiss her on the mouth.
Ophelia’s touch melts away the fundraiser, the attack; every single worry I have dissolves the second we collide.
All I can think about is her lips, how soft they feel against mine, how naturally our bodies come together.
I scoop my hands under her ass, lifting her up, encouraging her to wrap her legs around my back.
She crosses her ankles around me, pressing her body flush against mine.
I breathe deeply through the kiss, inhaling her.
I splay my hands over her body, peeling away the black sequin dress. I need her naked. I need to sink my cock into her. Show her how much I care, and that I will never stop fucking caring.
I sit her on the edge of the bed, lowering the dress straps. The garment gapes around her chest, one breast falling out.
I concentrate on her shoulder, planting a tender kiss to each before lowering my mouth to her perfect breasts, taking them into my mouth and sucking.
Ophelia sings the most wonderful fucking tune as I suck her nipples, rendering them hard.
“Good girl,” I affirm, lowering her onto her back. “Nice and relaxed for me. Let me take care of you.”
I remove the rest of the dress, throwing it out into the room. From this height, the city looks peaceful. The floor-to-ceiling windows in this room lend a pleasant view of Manhattan, but I’m not interested in looking through the window tonight.
Ophelia is far more interesting than New York. I could stare at her body for the rest of my life and never get bored, admiring those puckered nipples and the soft swell of her breasts from now until forever.
I trail my fingers over her black lace panties, lifting the hem.
Ophelia squirms on the bed, buckling her hips. I remove her panties and she opens her legs nice and wide for me, letting me see all of her.
I kneel before her, slipping my hands under her ass, bringing her close.
I lick her center, finding her clit, flicking it back and forth with the tip of my tongue.
My cock awakens in my pants. My body needs to be in her more than it needs oxygen to breathe, but I ignore my arousal. Ophelia comes first. She always does.
She doesn’t deserve to be thrown over my desk and fucked. She deserved to be worshipped. She deserves my tongue on her pussy as I stimulate her nice and slow, taking my time, allowing her intoxicating scent to wrap around me, stealing me from this world.
“I need you to fuck me,” she says.
I remain on my knees, flicking her clit with my tongue, bringing her right to the edge, but not over. I want us to climax together and finish in unison as we ride through the waves of our pleasure together, me guiding her through every step.
I look up at her, finding her eyes on me. Her breasts heave with each staggered breath, and suddenly I’m like a kid in a candy store, not sure where to focus my attention.
Everything tastes amazing.
I climb up her body, swirling my tongue over her nipples, giving each supple breast a little slap. I love watching them contort under my palm.
I lower over her, planting a tender kiss to her lips while undoing my belt, shoving my pants down.
I rise from her, taking my pants fully off, tossing them out into the room.
Ophelia looks at my chest, looking at the faded crow tattoo.
I grind my jaw. Ophelia is the only woman who knows the meaning behind the tattoo, who knows me away from the money, the business.
A small part of my inner consciousness is telling me to run away. She knows too much, and knowledge equals disaster.
But I always feel a gravitational pull toward this woman.
I felt the same way when she first sat down at the interview table opposite me.
She was everything I had never seen before.
My success didn’t bother her. She wasn’t interested in getting to know me.
She was only interested in herself, in her own success; wanting to live a life on her own terms away from the opinions of others.
She was the sun after a very long winter, and I knew that she was going to make a difference at Moretti Global.
But of course, she has her own issues. Losing a parent is tough at any age, but in your early twenties? I can only imagine. Stepping into adulthood without your parents can be a very daunting experience.
I only ever had Renato Vieri guiding me, and I poured all my trust in the wrong man. I killed people because he told me to. I never knew why these people needed to die, but I listened, I trusted, and now I’m on top of my pretty little assistant.
Ophelia and I wouldn’t have even met if it wasn’t for the Crows.
If I had parents, I never would have had an incentive to work hard.
Staring into Ophelia’s enchanting eyes, I wonder if I can guide us both onto better paths. I want to be a better man for her, and I’ve never wanted to be that for anyone, not even for myself.
If I can save these boys from the Crows, perhaps I can heal the lost boy who still lives inside of me.
I kiss Ophelia on the lips while sliding all the way into her pussy.
Ophelia moans, her fingernails clawing at my shoulders as she wraps her arms around me, holding on tight.
I move on top of her, our hips crashing together. I’m already in a position to finish, but I restrain myself, driving into her slow and deep, making every thrust count.
“You need to go faster,” Ophelia urges me, grabbing my hips, encouraging me to pick up the pace.
“I have all the time in the world when it comes to you, sweetheart.”
She catches my eyes, and we share an intense look.
My inner consciousness tells me to run. This is getting far too out of hand.
The connection I have with Ophelia is larger than sex, larger than the two of us combined.
Our attraction is simply out of control, and no matter how many times that lost boy inside of me tells me to run, I’ll never listen.
You cannot fight the laws of physics.
I move my hips in circular motions, watching Ophelia’s eyes shut. She exhales sweetly, getting ready to orgasm. Her lower lip always trembles when she’s close.
I suck her lip into my mouth, dominating her mouth with my tongue as I move over her. Her walls clench around my length, and suddenly she’s screaming my name at the very top of her lungs, clawing my shoulders like a rabid animal.
I increase the pace, driving home, and spill deep inside of her.
I lie on my back afterward, and we stare at the ceiling in silence. But I’m not quite satisfied yet. There’s a fire burning in my soul, and it won’t stop burning until the new Crow leader is dead.
And if that person is Ophelia’s father, so be it. I will shove my knife into his heart, seeking justice for Ophelia, because he’s the reason she’s so broken.