At home, his men barely spoke to me. I was something they were told to keep an eye on, not someone they needed to know. When I walked into a room, conversations stopped or shifted to things that didn’t matter.
I grew up inside that silence. Days passed with no one asking what I liked or what I thought. Birthdays were acknowledged with gifts chosen by assistants. Dinners were quiet unless my father wanted to talk about himself or business. My motherfaded further into alcohol and pills and stopped noticing when I entered or left a room. And when she did, she had always a venomous comment to throw.
Loneliness had settled into me early and never left. The need for attention kept growing until it felt permanent. The desperation for someone to look at me and see a person had never faded.
I’d learned to carry it quietly, because there was nowhere for it to go.
One day. One fucking whole day that all I’m thinking about is her. Her awkward eyes, her innocent yet sinful moans as she pleasured herself after my command.
My eyes shut, her taste still clinging to my tongue—innocent, terrified, and utterly fucking mine. I see her again, spreading her knees in front of the mirror, fingers shaking as she touched herself.
I thought I just wanted to play the fucking hero and protect her—and kill her father—but it’s more than that. It’s so fucked up. I can’t stop thinking about her. Needing her. I want to bury myself so deep inside her she’ll never get me out, not even if she tried. I want her swollen, sore, dripping with me. I want her fucking marked.
And it’s not enough.
I want her afraid to look at another man. I want her crawling back to me when she tries to leave. I want to leave my mark on every layer of her, so there’s nothing left of her that isn’t bound to me. Not just her body, but her mind. Her fucking soul.
I didn’t plan on this, but fuck, I’m already too far gone.
“I didn’t know we brought your pretty-boy ass here to rearrange the cutlery.” Wes’s voice snaps me back to reality.
I didn’t realize I had been pressing on the fork for so long until I bent it. Have I been daydreaming?
I’m screwed.
I toss the fork on the table and instantly sober up.
“I was picturing it was your spine,” I say, unwilling to continue his morning delirium once again.
He chuckles dryly, sipping his coffee. “Easy there, sweetheart. If imagining me gets you this worked up, people might start talking.”
Boris and Levi laugh at his stupid, mocking comment.
I click my tongue and lean further in my chair.
“Relax. Nobody’s wasting breath talking about you.”
“Do me a favor and go and fuck yourself,” he replies.
“After you, my dear.”
“Men. The way you two get under each other’s skin is practically foreplay,” Lorena says, savoring the words on her tongue.
Levi clicks his fork on his plate louder to silence her.
This woman is revolting. She cheats on her limp husband with that Levi freak, of all people, and actually thinks no one’s noticed. That’s not just pathetic; it’s suicidal. Honestly, I’m impressed they’ve managed to stay alive this long.
“What’s wrong with you?” she huffs, pulling the sleep mask off her head.
“What’s wrong with me?” Levi snarls, widening his eyes. “Why don’t you flirt with him a little more?”
As I said … Pathetic.
“I didn’t know you were my warden,” she snaps back, making a bigger fool of herself.
“Oh, you?—”
“Enough!” Wes shouts, slamming his hand on the table. It’s strange. I never thought he cared. I always figured he was too much of an asshole for that.
