By the time we’re done, we’re still clothed. I strip us both bare, take her to the bed, and feed her my cock until I’m hard again, then fuck her a third time.
I can’t get enough of her. I’ll never have Giulia, and that feels like it’s only fueling this, only making me need more of the only thing I want that Icanhave.
She comes again, hard, as I come the third time, my cum now dripping out of her as I fuck her, and when I finally stop, trying to catch my breath, I see tears tracking down her cheeks.
I freeze, staring down at her, still half inside her.
"Did I hurt you?" I ask, my voice rough with panic and guilt.
"No." Her voice cracks. "No, I've never felt better. It’s just… hormones, I guess, or something. All that oxytocin." She laughs shakily, but there's something in her tone that makes my chest ache.
We’re both lying, both pretending. Both trying to use each other to forget things we can't forget.
"Valentina—"
"I'm fine," she says, but she's not. I can feel it in the way she's trembling, hear it in her voice.
I hold her tighter, and I think about the two women who are destroying me.
Giulia, who I can never have, who's being forced into a marriage with a man who doesn't deserve her. And Valentina,who I can have but don't really know. Who cries after we fuck and tells me she's fine.
An angel and a devil, an innocent virgin and a fucking succubus who makes me come harder than I ever have in my life. I'm torn between them—caught between two obsessions, two impossible situations.
And the rage is always there, too, simmering just below the surface. Waiting for an excuse to explode. I'm losing control. Losing myself. And I don't know how to stop.
I don’t know how to survive what's coming, how to let go of either of them.
So I just hold Valentina in the dark and pretend that this is enough. That this can save me.
Even though I know it won't.
9
GIULIA
The next time my father calls me into his office, I know he’s going to tell me his final choice.
I've been waiting for it. Dreading it, the way you dread the moment the executioner's blade finally falls—not because you don't know it's coming, but because knowing doesn't make it hurt any less.
He's sitting behind his desk when I enter, and there's something satisfied in his expression, pleased, like he's just closed a particularly advantageous business deal.
Which, I suppose, he has.
"Sit down, Giulia."
I sit. My hands are folded in my lap, my posture perfect. The dutiful daughter. The obedient child. I've been practicing this role my entire life, and by now the performance is flawless.
"I've made my decision," he says. "We discussed this before, but I’m sure of it now. Alessandro Ferrucci will be your husband. The engagement will be announced in six weeks at the spring charity gala. The wedding will follow six months after that."
Six weeks. Six months.The numbers feel both impossibly far away and terrifyingly close. Six weeks until the world knows Ibelong to Alessandro. Six months until I'm his wife in truth, not just in name. Six months until every door closes and I'm trapped forever.
"I understand.” Arguing would be pointless. This conversation is just a formality.
"Alessandro is a good man," my father continues. "His family is well-connected, respected. You'll want for nothing. And he's expressed genuine affection for you, which is more than many women in your position can hope for. This is a good match, and it will show that this household has calmed. That my daughter is capable of making a suitable marriage and advancing our family, even if my son behaves rashly."
Affection. The word makes my chest ache.
I don't want Alessandro's affection. I don't want his respect or his family's connections or the comfortable life he can provide. I want Luca.
