“It truly isn’t. Eat.”
“You know it’s not your fault, right?”
My chest rumbles with disagreement and I make to turn around, but Lucie stops me with a hand around my wrist. She pulls until I sit on the sofa next to her, framing my face with her warm hands. She does that when she wants me to get something through my thick skull. It makes me feel all mushy inside.
“Piccolo.” The nickname has my cock at half mast, and I want to cut it off. Now is not the time to get excited. She’s hurting and it’s my fault. “Piccolo, look at me.”
Her hazel eyes are so vivid that I relax in her gentle hold.
“I got sick, it happens,” she says.
“If I hadn’t chased you through the woods, you?—”
“I wouldn’t have known what true, unrestrained pleasure means,piccolo. Now, stop moping around. That’s an order.”
I raise a brow. “An order?”
“Yes.” Lucie lifts her chin, like a queen talking to her loyal subject. And that’s all I am anyway. At her service, always. “I want to do it again when spring comes back around.”
She thinks I’ll still be in the picture in spring. Better yet, she still wants me around come spring. I’ve never known what the butterflies everyone talks about are but now I can feel them flutter inside my stomach. I almost feel sick at how excited I am. I beam at her and she nods, satisfied with herself.
Since we came back from Loch Lomond, I haven’t let her do much for herself. I cook for her, got her to uni until she fell really ill two days ago and had to take a break. And mostly, I watch her. When she studies. When she sleeps. She thinks I leave her be when she’s in class but I’ve found ways to observe her even then. She’s my favourite occupation. My obsession. I thought half the thrill was that she wasn’t able to see me, but revealing myself to her and being in her space every minute of the day is even better.
She hasn’t given me any of her fake smiles in a while. It’s like I’m watching in real time how she blooms and lets herself be sad, frustrated, happy, or smitten. Especially when Biscuit commands her attention. She keeps buying our dog little clothes that match hers and it’s adorable. The downside is that people stop us on the street to compliment her and the dog. A heavy hand on her hip is the only way I can claim her. For now. Until she carries my ring and my child that is, but she isn’t ready. Maybe she never will be. Maybe it’s best if she never is. As much as I want her swollen with my baby, I know the genes they would carry. I can’t let another monster like my brother and I roam.
The thought that he might still spy on her, on us, keeps me on edge, day and night.
“Are you okay?” she asks with a frown, and I shake my head, smiling one ofmyfake smiles. I don’t fool her but she doesn’t insist.
After she devours her chicken soup, I guide her to her bathroom. She clicks her tongue but it lacks heat. “You know I can wash my own hair, right?”
“I do. But I love taking care of you.”
The other three words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t shackle her to someone like me. She might want me to stick around long enough to chase her through the woods once more, to give life to her desires, but that’s all I have to offer.
She discards her pyjamas and step into the bathtub, the water overhead spraying hotter than Hell. I know she loves ice cold showers, too, but that’s more of a morning thing for her, when she stresses about uni and her father being radio silent. I’ve been so focused on Lucie, I haven’t had time to check in on Diane back in Petar’s clutches. It’s only a matter of time until he discovers who Diane is. I hold back a wince at knowing where Lucie’s godmother is and keeping it a secret from her.
It’s for her best.
I take the shampoo bottle and squirt a decent amount, lathering it on Lucie’s head and massaging her scalp. She lets out a contended sigh and I smirk to myself. She cherishes her independance, yet, she lets me take care of her with no complaints. Or minimal complaints at least.
I rinse the shampoo and use conditioner on the long strands after, massaging her shoulders while it works. My hands find her heavy tits like they’re magnets for my touch. Lucie sags against me.
“This conditioner is a fast-acting one. Only two minutes leave-in,” she says, eyes closed and head dropped against my chest.
“I don’t need more time,” I whisper against the soft, wet skin of her neck.
“You’re so full of yourself.”
Her breath catches when my fingers reach her pussy. Since I only have two-minutes, I don’t tease her. Pressing the heel of my palm to her clit, I glide my fingers in circles against her opening, never giving her anything but promising oblivion. The space is small but she finds a way to widen her stance, opening her legs so I can dip inside her. “So greedy,” I praise.
“With you? Always. Make me come,piccolo. You do it so well.”
I groan and bite down on her shoulder, sliding two fingers inside her cunt. She’s so ready for me and pride surges inside my veins. I’ll never get enough of making her come.
I pinch one of her nipples while I thrust my other hand in and out of her. My rhythm is slow and relentless, and she chases pleasure, as she always does. Lucie cants her hips, trying to control what I give her and I growl against her. “Be good. You’re gonna get there.”
She huffs, and it turns into a low moan when I collar her throat. She steps a foot on the side of the bathtub, clearly done with waiting. Spread out for me, she comes on my fingers, riding my hand like she would my cock. Her nails sink into my wrist, but I’m unsure if it’s to keep me there or remove me. My eyes never leave her face, the look of pure abandon my favourite of hers. That one is reserved for me. It makes me want to kill anyone who’s ever had the privilege of seeing her like this. She refused to tell me anything about her previous lovers and that’s for the best. I’d leave a trail of bodies behind me just to make sure I’m the only person alive to know what bliss looks like on Lucie Ventura.
