Page 25 of Devour (Blood and Roses #1)

Luca

I ’ ve become a stalker in my own home, watching Ariel and Noah through the glass door that separates Noah’s bedroom from his playroom. Before she heads to the kitchen, I catch glimpses of her—eating, laughing, chatting with Griselda.

The sound of her laughter drifts toward me, soft and effortless. It feels like music to my ears. My heart stumbles into an awkward rhythm.

I got what I wanted, what I thought I needed. I used her for my pleasure. I should be satisfied. But instead, I ache for more of her like a man starving.

I could’ve taken custody of my son and cut her off for good.

I have enough to build a case, and the means to make it stick.

I could pay off whoever I needed to. But I didn’t.

I chose to keep her close like an addiction I can’t control.

Not just for her safety. But because I want her near me.

Always. Curious about what they’re saying, I inch closer, careful not to make a sound.

“He’s a chubby one,” Griselda says with a chuckle.

“Look at his two tiny teeth,” Ariel coos.

“He did a lot of damage with those two teeth,” Griselda laughs.

“You should keep that,” Griselda says,

“No… I—It’s not my place to,” Ariel replies, hesitant.

“Don’t be silly, my child.” Griselda gently removes the photo from the album and places it in Ariel’s palm.

I see her face light up then shift into something playful and mischievous. She sets the photo on a box on the countertop and continues flipping through the album, smiling to herself.

I want to join them. Desperately. But I stay hidden in the shadows, afraid my presence might steal the joy from her face. I know I forced her into this marriage. But watching her like this…

God help me, I suddenly want more. I linger a little longer before retreating to my study. I stay there for hours, long enough to be certain she’s left the kitchen, gone to bed, and, hopefully, fallen asleep.

When I finally emerge, I head to the kitchen for something to eat, then make my way to our shared bedroom.

She’s lying on her side, the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp casting golden shadows across her skin, the covers pulled up to her neck, her angelic face relaxed in deep sleep.

Only her face is visible, soft and untouched by the weight of the day. I strip down to my boxer briefs and slip into bed behind her, the mattress shifting beneath my weight.

At first, I lie on my back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, but sleep doesn’t come.

My mind is too loud, too full of her. Or maybe it’s the way her presence sets something raw and dangerous stirring beneath my skin.

I’ve never shared a bed like this with anyone and definitely not with someone I want to ruin and protect in the same breath.

Eventually, I glanced her way. She hasn’t moved. The blanket has slipped down to her waist, exposing the bare skin of her shoulder and arm. Something in me stirs—I want to be closer.

I move toward her, gently wrapping an arm around her waist. I brace myself for tension, for discomfort—after all, I’ve never had this much contact with anyone. It was always just a physical release with every woman I’ve fucked and there have been many.

But this feels different. I spoon her close, her back against my chest and her ass nestled against my thighs.

The silk of her lingerie is smooth under my hand, too tempting to ignore.

I let my palm glide over it—across her waist, over her hip, gently cupping the swell of her breast. The jasmine scent in her hair fills my lungs.

I had the bathroom stocked with jasmine-scented products earlier. It’s her favorite.

She stirs suddenly, her hips shifting, her backside pressing against my groin. I swallow hard, stifling the sound that threatens to escape.

I wait, holding still, but she doesn’t wake, it's just her body moving unconsciously. Carefully, I still her hips and draw in a shaky breath.

Untangling myself from her, I slip out of bed and quietly make my way to the bathroom. I strip off my boxers and step under the cold shower. The water glides over my skin, but I barely feel it.

My hand trails down my abdomen to my aching length, and I start to stroke it slow at first, my rough palm dragging over sensitive flesh.

All the while, the woman responsible for this need sleeps soundly in the next room.

My pace quickens as I imagine her lips wrapped around me, warm and wet.

I come with a grunt, spilling onto the shower floor, my breath ragged as I watch it swirl down the drain.

I step out and towel myself dry before wrapping another around my waist.

I walk toward the door separating the walk-in closet from the bathroom and take out a fresh pair of boxers from one of the drawers.

After slipping them on, I head back to the bedroom. She hasn’t moved, still lying in the same position I left her completely unaware of the war raging inside me. I climb into bed behind her, wrapping my arm gently around her waist.

This time, I make sure there’s no contact between my crotch and her body. Eventually, the tension bleeds out of me, and I let the stillness swallow me whole. I close my eyes, allowing the perfection of this moment to wash over me and lull me into a peaceful sleep.

In the middle of the night, I stir. It’s her—she’s moving. I’d assumed she was the kind of sleeper who stayed in one position, but I was wrong.

She shifts a lot. Now, her body is pressed flush against mine, one leg thrown over my waist. The covers are completely kicked off, and her nightgown has ridden up to her waist, leaving her panties exposed.

I shift onto my back, but she moves with me instinctively, like her body is chasing mine in sleep. She ends up sprawled across me, her chest pressed to mine, her breathing warm against my neck.

The feel of her curves against my body is the last thing I remember before sleep pulls me under again. I’m jolted awake by a sharp scream and a searing pain in my balls.

“Fuck!”