12. Santino
SANTINO
I sit alone in the kitchen, drinking a glass of scotch, the only light on being the one above the stove. It’s quiet. Peaceful. There isn’t a soul around. There’s the light hum of the refrigerator and a drip coming from the sink that irks me enough to get up and head to my bedroom.
I loosen my tie, unable to get the image of Jovie in that fucking dress I saw her in at the restaurant out of my head.
She looked fucking beautiful. It took all I had in me not to drag her to the bathroom there, lift her dress, spin her around, and fuck her senseless so she knows who she belongs to.
My secret admirer be damned. I’ll pretend whoever I’m talking to is Jovie. It isn’t fair to them, but I no longer care. I need an escape from all this fucking temptation.
“Sir?”
I must’ve had more scotch than I thought because the sound of Lorenzo creeping up on me, in the middle of night, in the dark, has me spinning around and aiming my gun drunkenly at him. Scotch spills over of the rim of my glass, wetting my hand.
“Damn it, Lorenzo. You can’t just sneak up on people in their own homes.” I holster my weapon, taking another swig of my drink to try to drown the inappropriate thought of Jovie out of my mind.
It isn’t working.
The more I drink, the more I become okay with those thoughts.
“Apologies, Sir. I was on the way to kitchen when I heard you. Do you need anything? More scotch perhaps?”
“I better not. This is my third glass since we have gotten home. I have an early morning tomorrow at the docks for the delivery.”
“Of course, Sir.”
“If that’s all…” I spin around, strolling to my room when he calls out to me.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to say something, and then, you can ignore me.”
I pause at my door, reaching for the handle, debating if I want to hear what he has to say. I have a feeling I know what it is. For the first time in ages, nerves get the best of me. I never get nervous.
Nerves get people like me killed.
“What, Lorenzo? Get on with it,” I bite, wanting him to be afraid of me so he doesn’t tell me what is on his mind.
Lorenzo has worked with me for far too long. He knows all of my tactics. He’s never afraid, which makes him the perfect head of security.
“I noticed how you looked at Ms. Morgan tonight.”
I turn my head away, so he doesn’t see the guilt on my face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was only being friendly to a woman that my son hurt. It was the least I could do.”
“You like her. I noticed. You don’t treat people like that unless you like them and there aren’t many people you like, if you don’t mind me saying.”
I snort, pressing my forehead against the door. “It will pass, Lorenzo. No need to worry. I would never do that to my son.”
“Your son didn’t treat her very well. He will have plenty to say, but all of it would be unwarranted.”
“Goodnight, Lorenzo.” I push my door open, my head starting to throb from the conversation.
“Goodnight, Sir.”
That’s what I like about Lorenzo. He never tries to argue with me. When I say I’m done talking, he never questions it.
I step inside my dull bedroom, shut the door, and lean against it, downing the rest of the scotch. Setting the glass on my nightstand, I undress, not even placing my clothes in the hamper like I usually do.
I toss my phone next to my empty glass and climb into bed naked, staring up at the ceiling fan while it whirls. My head swims with liquor, good and bad ideas colliding with one another. I tug the blanket up to my hips, hoping the darkness will send me to sleep soon.
Even still, Jovie consumes my mind. Nothing and no one else.
My cock stirs at the memory of her in that dress.
I want to buy that dress in every fucking color. All I want her to walk around all day every day in little dresses that tease me so every fucking night I can give her every fucking ounce of me that she’s been begging for.
“Fuck,” I snarl, reaching under the sheets to stroke my cock.
The more I think about her, the more my body heats. I bite the inside of my cheek when my thumb swipes across the sensitive underside of the crown, arching my back from how good it feels imagining it’s her hand on me.
My free hand rubs across my chest and then I pull it away when the rough skin on my palm scratches me. It isn’t soft like her touch would be.
“All I want is you.” I speed up my strokes, knowing it will never be enough.
I reach for the phone, knowing I shouldn’t talk like this to my secret admirer or whoever the fuck it is, but I’m burning with need and the only one who can truly fix it, can’t be here.
She never can.
I yank the covers from my body, my cock jutting from a trimmed patch of dark hair, precome leaking down the flared bulbous head.
Pressing record, I squeeze the shaft extra hard, my orgasm already threatening to surface. I’m on edge because of Jovie.
That fucking dress. The way her body looked in it. The way it hugged her curves that I need to fucking caress. The way she gasped when she felt my touch. The way her skin is so fucking soft.
“I’m going out of my mind. Are you going to help me take the edge off?” I rasp, stroking myself slowly so I don’t end this too soon.
I press send and guilt follows. I’m not even with Jovie in any capacity. I can’t even call her a friend and yet I feel like I’m cheating on her with another woman.
A woman who I want to be her.
Ms. Smith: “I don’t know. Will you help me first?”
It’s a video of her, similar to the other one. This time, she has a toy between her legs. The buzzing is loud and fast. The red toy is small. She’s able to hold it in her hand and control it how she wants to.
“Yes,” she gasps. “More. Oh God.” Her voice sounds muffled and yet I’m still able to use it to my advantage, imagining it’s Jovie speaking to me.
Her thighs tremble.
The buzzing becomes more intense.
My phone dings again in the middle of me watching and it’s a picture from her. I flip to my stomach, needing more than my hand.
I need friction.
My blood is boiling for release, and I know whatever may come of this, won’t be enough.
“Fuck,” I moan when I click open the picture to see her wet cunt.
She must have come already.
Me: “Getting started without me? That’s not very nice, Ms. Smith.”
Her: “I couldn’t help myself. You’ve been on my mind all day.”
I rut against the bed, thrusting my cock into the mattress, and moan, surprised that it feels so fucking good. It’s been too long since I’ve wanted someone this much. I’m about to crawl out of my skin. Enough is enough.
After tonight, I’ll find out who she is. Enough of these games.
I prop my phone up, leaning it against the pillow so I can grip the edge of the mattress while I fuck the bed. I moan, gasp, and grunt, giving her all the sounds I wish I could make while being between her thighs.
“I want you under me. I want to feel you around my cock, begging me for more.” I bite into the pillow, wishing it were her shoulder, wanting to leave my mark on her in every way possible.
Sweat beads across my forehead, daring to drip into my eyes. I manage to press send and grip the sheets in my fist, pulling on them in hopes they tear. I can hardly fucking breathe. The desire is burning through me from the inside out.
If I don’t touch Jovie again, and soon, I’ll die.
That’s what it feels like. Only her touch can make this throbbing ache disappear to bring me relief.
“Fuck,” I moan, driving my hips against the bed harder and faster.
Her: “Come inside me, Santino. I want to feel you drip out of me. Are you close? I’m going to come again.”
I snag my phone and take a few pictures, aiming my phone between me and the bed so she can see how much my cock is leaking for her.
Me: “You’ll take every fucking drop of me without saying a word. I’m close. I’m so close. I’m going to breed you and stay inside you long after we are done so your womb has no choice but to take me in. Every. Single. Day. Every. Single. Night. You’d be filled. You wouldn’t be able to get away.”
Her: “Like I’d ever want to get away from you. I’d want everything you’d give.”
“Jovie,” I moan, sealing my fate in Hell.
If I haven’t already.
Her: “I’d give anything to have you touch my body. To feel your fingertips slide against my skin. I want you more than I have wanted anything. Please, Santino. Give me everything.”
Me: “Such a pretty girl when you beg. Come for me.”
Her: “I did. Three times.”
Me: “Again. I want another.”
Her: “I can’t. It’s too much. I can’t do it.”
Me: “That’s too fucking bad. I want your entire body shaking when I come.”
I reach between my legs, my shaft warm from the blood pooling in my length. My skin stretches to the max, the muscle as large as it can be.
A video comes a few seconds later. It’s only ten seconds long and I’m already upset she ignored my demands.
Clicking play, her whimpers and whines are louder than they have ever been. Her hand is shaking as she grips the toy so hard her knuckles are white. Her body arches, allowing me to see light-colored trimmed hair. I can’t tell what the color is. It’s too dark in her room.
But I’m obsessed now.
I want to know. I want to bury my nose in it while I plunge my tongue inside, then lick up to her clit.
She shouts, her legs giving out and lying flat on the bed while she tries to catch her breath.
My orgasm threatens watching her fall apart and I don’t have time to record before I spill everywhere, painting my sheets with rope after rope. I groan with relief, rocking my hips slow and easy as I come down from my high.
“Fuck, Jovie. I need you.”
But she can’t hear me and I’m not sure if she’ll ever be able to.
My high is ruined with the truth.
And truths are the hardest to come to terms with.