A proud smile tugs at my mouth. We could have continued living unperturbed, taking what we desired, doing what we wanted, knowing not even our fathers could say anything as their only heirs. But the levity was swiftly replaced by responsibility.
We went from the troublemaking heirs to the kings of the underworld, merging our fathers’ empires into something even greater.
My phone vibrates on my desk with a text, and a grin teases my lips as I open it. Dahlia does that so effortlessly. Expecting to receive some music score she’s working on, my smile freezes while my body burns up, my cock stirring with raw need. Iclench my fist around my phone, having trouble discerning reality from fantasy.
There are pics of her in two different bathing suits, making me salivate and rage with possession at the same time.
Which one should I wear?
To the funeral of anyone who will see you? That’s what I type before I delete it, regaining the control only she can crack.
I don’t know what is up with her. I blame my damn sister for instigating her. Ever since Calla reappeared, Dahlia has shown a rebellious streak increasingly often. While I have wished for nothing else in the last four years, when it comes at the expense of my sanity, I don’t like it. At fucking all.
I study the scraps of material that showcase her tiny waist and hourglass curves. Goddamn it, my finger traces along the contour of her body, wanting to dig my fingers into her waist and fuck her senseless.
For a moment, that’s all I envision until desire rolls into something darker. That side of me she glimpsed when I ripped through her virginity. I knew it was the only way, but fuck, I could lie all I want, I loved those small whimpers she made, her whispering my name in half awe, half agony while my cock was sheathed in her hot and tight core, gripping me like a heaven made vise.
My cock throbs in my pants, getting painfully hard. I ignore it, pretending it’s not there.
Dahlia!
You’re no fun.
She sends me another pic of her delicate face, pouting. I have never seen someone as beautiful as her—pure perfection andflawless grace. She owns my complete attention, ensnaring me. My heart, body, and mind are devoted to her—loyal soldiers who will serve their queen till death.
A feminine masterpiece. Elegant features sculpted by the hand of a creator who took his time, dedicated his entire attention, obsessed with creating something stunning. She’s God’s magnum opus. There is simply no more beautiful woman on earth than her, with her delicate cheekbones and full lips, her unblemished skin and graceful posture.
I want to tell her she can only wear those swimsuits in my presence, but I know she will torture me, regardless. Whichever she chooses is no better. One is red, a thong with a triangle top. The other is a black one-piece with a deep V, exposing the valley of her breasts and belly.
I haven’t forgotten how she dressed up at the bachelor/bachelorette party. I glared at every motherfucking asshole who even dared to glance at her while I drank enough vodka to thrust me into alcohol poisoning. There simply wasn’t enough vodka to numb my desire while Enzo unabashedly made known my sister is his, leaving me to sulk in my misery.
I’ll wear both.
To fucking where?
I type and send before I can stop myself.
To the pool.
With nostrils flaring and rationality shot down, I quickly text.
I swear to God if one guard sees you like that, I’ll have some explaining to do to your brother.
You’re not my boss.
Patience. Fucking patience.
Teetering on the edge, I call her. Maybe if she hears my resolute tone, it will wake her up from this nonsense. But the phone keeps ringing until it sends me to voicemail, only to get a pic of her in the pool a few minutes later.
She sticks her tongue out, eyes shining with rebellion and something more sinful that does nothing to tame the beast rattling inside of me, wanting out after years of captivity.
Her hair is slicked back, drops of water painting her skin, and from this position, I can see the back of her bathing suit that shows half of her ass, two thin straps holding it together, pushing me straight into madness.
I knew it was a disastrous idea to move here. I wish I could blame my brother for this situation, but it’s not like he forced me into it.
When my assistant steps inside to take the papers, I finish signing the documents, scribbling my name hard enough to leave indents in the desk.
Shoving them her way, I growl, “Clear my schedule for today.”
