VIRGIN. INNOCENT. MINE.
The last word roars inside of my mind, but I don’t let it stay. I immediately push that thought aside. Because if she becomes mine, it will change everything. And I can’t afford to have her as a liability. I’ve built my empire from the ground up, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of my desecrated family and eventually securing my own place in the world. I will not have it crumble for a woman. Especially not one that I paid for.
I can’t get the image of her at the club out of my mind. At first, my intention was to simply scare her out of her panicked state. But the moment the sweet smell of her arousal assaulted my senses, I was a fucking goner. It sparked a dark, primal urge from deep inside of me. I had to taste her. I had to give her pleasure.
My body was shaking like an addict with the need for her. She’s like a drug tailored for my specific tastes. And if I don’t quench my thirst and feed my addiction again soon, I feel as if I might go mad.
If she had told me no at the club, I would have stopped. It would have taken every ounce of strength in me to do it, but I will never force a woman. I may have done a lot of fucked-up things in my life, but that’s where I draw the line.
But when all I heard were her staggered breaths and panicked whimpers, I continued. And when she finally begged me not to stop, I think she needed me just as much as I needed her in that moment.
As I stand under the hot spray of water, I tug on my hard cock, closing my eyes and remembering the taste of her. Fuck, I never want to wash away her essence. My dick is hard steel in my hand as I work my fist up and down my length. My balls tighten to the point that they’re almost painful, and then I groan out low and deep as my release shoots against the tiled wall.
My entire body shudders with that release. It feels like years of pent-up frustration even though she’s been here for a much shorter period of time. Fuck, that woman is going to be the death of me.
Rinsing off, I step out of the shower and dry off. I slip on a pair of boxers and walk into the dark bedroom. Aria is already in bed with her back turned towards me. Sighing, I slide under the blankets and bring my arms up, resting my head on my hands and staring up at the ceiling.
The orgasm satiated me to an extent, but I’m wide awake. I realize we haven’t even talked about what happened earlier tonight. Not about the panic attack over someone who kidnapped her, hurt her; nor me tasting her sweet cunt and making her come on my tongue. In fact, she refused to talk to me at all after we left the club.
The entire night replays over and over again in my mind as we lie in bed together. Aria is huddled on the other side, pretending to be asleep, but I know she is as alert as I am. I’ve grown accustomed to knowing the sound of her slipping peacefully into slumber and also to knowing when she’s awake, like right now.
I turn on the lamp by the bed, dowsing the room with a soft amber glow. “The man who took you and tried to rape you. Tell me his name, Aria,” I command.
I’m assuming she’s going to flat-out refuse, just like she does with everything else, but then she turns on her side to face me. “There’s nothing you can do,” she tells me, surprising me. “He’s untouchable, like he’s been for years. He might even be in prison again by now. Or at least I hope so anyway,” she says. And then she adds, with sadness dripping from her tone, “No one can get to him. Not even my father could.”
I listen to her words and pick them apart carefully. Her father must be a powerful man, but so is the man who assaulted her. I stare into her amber eyes in the soft lamp light. I can still see the panic and the fear inside them, and it makes my muscles tremble in anger. “His name,” I demand through clenched teeth.
Aria sighs dramatically, and I can hear her resigned tone when she finally says, “Constantine Carbone.” Rolling back on her side to face the wall, she tells me, “No one has ever been able to bring him down. Like my brother always said, he has more money and power than God,” she resolves.
I turn off the lamp and lie awake for a while after she’s done speaking. I listen to her breathing even out as she eventually falls asleep. And then I listen to her whimpers as she fights through a nightmare. I can only assume she’s dreaming about the bastard that kidnapped and sold her. The man who attempted to rape her.
Possessiveness that really has no business being there in the first place suddenly wells up inside of me. My blood is boiling by the time I throw back the sheets and climb out of bed.
Whoever this man is, he will be dead soon. I don’t give a fuck who he is or where he is hiding or how powerful he pretends to be. He is not untouchable in my eyes. The moment he laid his hands on Aria, his fate was sealed. He’s a dead man walking.
