I was doing fine, getting through each day with my guilt and yearning as constant companions. In close proximity, the lines blur. And damn her, she won’t stop. Even as a child, she got whatever she wanted. From sweets to whatever toy she desired. She just had to smile at me, and I would be a sucker for her.
Enzo said I spoiled her, but even then, it was beyond my understanding—a compulsion I followed automatically. I needed to make this girl happy. Her smiles have always been the highlight of my days.
It fucked with my head once she stopped, and her punishment lasted a long time. Over a year of silence until she tormented me in other ways, small innuendos here and there, secretive glances and smiles. As if not letting me forget what we shared. I never could, and never will. In that moment, while I knew I either fuck her or my father would, followed by his men, it was more than duty. I wanted to.
The beast growled, deaf to reason.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
I am a sinner of the worst kind.
After holding her last night, my arms feel empty. The memory of holding her is so fresh, it is as if I wear her on my skin like an invisible tattoo. No wonder it took forever to fall asleep when my body vibrated with this mix of restless energy and incessant desire for her.
Sleeplessness was to be expected after she molded her lithe body to mine. Holding her feels natural, as if every sinful fiber of my being has been custom made to fit her in the crook of my arms.
My cock stirs to full attention, throbbing. Anatomy has nothing to do with this unyielding need for her.
I haven’t jerked, haven’t even entertained thoughts of getting myself off. I have become a master at ignoring my baser instincts, but she uses my weakness against me proficiently. She could easily seduce me if I didn’t have an iron grip on my self-control.
Eight more days of this hellish torment traded with sweet promise for a slice of euphoria. I might break her if she unleashes the animal in me. That knowledge douses my blinding lust.
Rolling out of bed, I stare at the rumpled sheets, in disarray just like me.
My phone rings on the nightstand, and when I see who it is, I groan. My long-lost sister crashed into my life unapologetically, a force to be reckoned with.
I can’t fool her as well as I can my best friend. She sniffs around us and senses something is going on. Her complete loyalty is to the man she wanted to kill but ended up marrying, and I have to tread carefully.
The crazy gene must run in the family.
I pick up, my voice sounding even more gruff.
“Oh, dear brother, nice to hear you too.”
“When are you coming back?” I ask, not caring that I sound rude. They have to, or I won’t be held accountable.
“Hmm, maybe we’ll prolong our honeymoon for a bit longer.”
“Fuck no,” I blurt out, giving her the reaction she sought.
“You sound stressed. Could it be because of Dahlia?” she asks, tone drenched in certainty, already knowing the answer.
I rake a hand through my hair. “No.” I answer too quickly, sounding defensive.
For the first time, Calla doesn’t give me shit, which I appreciate.
“Don’t hurt her.”
“Anything else?” I grumble.
“Just wanted to see how you’re doing,” she whispers, but I catch the worry laced in there.
I drag a hand down my face, so fucking exhausted. “Now you know. Say hi to the whipped idiot you call husband.”
“Don’t call him that,” she mutters, all friendliness gone.
