“Fuck,” I grit out. My orgasm leaves me gasping, my knees weak. I lean against the cold marble, spilling myself onto the floor in a second, even more pathetic mess.
Fuck, this is a disaster.
I clean myself up, but the problem remains. My cock refuses to move on. I try to work, to lose myself in managing one of my late father’s many empires… but it’s useless. I don’t know how to use the monster between my legs, and I can’t control it either. I’m going to combust. I’m going to burn from the inside out.
When night falls, I pull on dark clothes and head out to her apartment complex. The streets are a blur; the cold air a welcome slap against my fevered skin. Her brownstone. Ofcourse. I know every brick, every weakness. The drainpipe is old but solid. I carry myself upward, scaling the bricks, and landing on her second-floor balcony without a sound.
I can see into her apartment through the glass balcony door. The only illumination is the silver wash of moonlight and the faint glow from the street. I try the handle. Locked. I know she’s in there. I raise my fist and slam it against the glass. The thud is satisfying—a demand. A threat.
A lamp flicks on, and she walks closer to the balcony to investigate. She gasps as she approaches the door, wearing nothing but a robe and her butt-length hair. She doesn’t look scared. She looks… intrigued. Her eyes meet mine through the glass.
“More,” I growl.
A slow smile spreads across her lips. “More what, Valerio?” Her voice is a purr.
Rage floods me. I slam my fist against the door again. The frame shudders. “You know what,” I snarl, my face pressed close to the cold glass, panting like a dog. “This is your fucking doing. Fix it.”
She’s enjoying my pain, my loss of control. The thought makes me want to shatter the glass and take what I want right here, right now. But I don’t. I’m many things, but a rapist isn’t on the list. I seethe as my cock wails in agony.
“Tell me what you want,” she whispers. “Beg me for it.”
My pride screams in protest. I will not. I cannot.
But the gnawing throb in my groin is torture. My forehead rests against the cool glass, my breath fogging the pane. “Please,” I force out. “Charlotte… please.”
She has me. And she knows it.
Only then does she untie the sash of her robe. The silk parts, and she shrugs it from her shoulders. It pools at her feet. The dim light dances over her perky breasts and the dark trianglebetween her legs. She is perfect.
It’s too dark for anyone not panting against the glass to see, and that’s the only thing keeping the devil in me at bay. I’d have to kill anyone other than me who saw this.
Her hands roam her own body, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples until they stand out like dark berries. She moves closer to the glass, pressing her tits flat against the pane.
She turns, her back to me now. She bends over. Her hands spread her ass cheeks, exposing everything. The tight, puckered star of her asshole. The glistening, wet folds of her cunt.Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I watch, mesmerized, as she slides her fingers between her legs, working them inside her. She withdraws her fingers, and they gleam with her juices in the low light.
The thought of touching another person’s fluids has always made me want to hurl. The very idea of it is repulsive. But watching her suck her own fingers clean, her eyes locked on mine—a new, terrifying thought surfaces. I want to taste them. I want to suck her soiled fingers just like that. I want her filth in my mouth.
My hand fumbles with my zipper, my cock springing free, thick and angry and weeping with need.
I stroke myself hard and fast, my eyes glued to the obscene spectacle she’s making of herself through the glass. Her fingers dive between her legs again and again, each time bringing them to her mouth to lick them clean. My grip on my cock is so tight it burns; I’m trying to imitate what I think her cunt would feel like.
A thick, white arc of release spurts from me, splattering against the glass door.
I slump against the railing, gasping for air. Through the haze, I see her move. She sinks to her knees on the other side of the glass, her face level with my mess. She sticks out her tongue and presses it flat against the cool pane, pretending to lick my semenoff.
I watch her, a predator watching its mate. She has no idea what she just awakened.
Chapter Nine
Charlotte
Ispent most of my life believing I was slightly above average. Symmetrical enough. Forgettable enough. The only thing I was ever truly blessed with was a big brain.
But after Valerio, I swear I feel like a different woman. A woman who gave a psychopath a show and didn’t let him leave a single mark on her skin.
I feel powerful.
