Page 4 of Forbidden Sins

SEBASTIAN

YOU ACTED LIKE AN IDIOT THIS MORNING.

T hat’s the only thought in my head as I climb the stairs to my suite of rooms in the Gallo mansion, sweaty and eager for a shower.

The look on Estella’s face when she saw me climbing out of the pool is burned into my head—the look on her face when she was staring at my cock most of all.

Right at it, as if she wanted to memorize every fucking inch of what she was seeing.

I run a hand over my face, shoving the door to the suite open and closing it hard behind me.

I should never have gotten out of the fucking pool while she was still standing there.

I’ve been careful about things like that over the years.

Careful to never let her see me with less than shorts and a T-shirt on during workouts.

Careful not to make jokes that were too sexual.

To never let the teasing slip over into innuendo if I could help it.

Careful to never let the innocent mafia princess that I’m in charge of protecting know how she makes me feel.

“ Fuck ,” I mutter the word aloud into the open air as I strip off my shirt and toss it into the laundry, my shorts and boxer briefs following closely behind.

My cock twitches as I stride across the room naked toward the bathroom, threatening to swell into a full-blown erection every time I remember that damned look she gave me.

Hell, she probably didn’t even know what she was fantasizing about when she saw me climb out of the pool half-naked.

Antony Gallo has kept his daughter sheltered as a hothouse flower, except for the small freedom of letting her attend college in person.

Even then, I was told to stick to her side like glue, and it affected her college experience, I know that.

Hard for a girl to make friends or have boys develop a crush on her when a six-feet-four of a muscled bodyguard is looming within a few feet of her at all times.

Never mind that the thought of anyone having a crush on her makes my jaw clench and an entirely inappropriate possessive instinct run through me like a jolt, every time.

It’s a pointless feeling, and one that I’ve been trying to get rid of for as long as I’ve been in the Gallo mansion.

Estella is not the kind of woman I should so much as look at, let alone nurture any kind of feelings for.

Even our friendship borders on inappropriate, simply because we’re so close.

Her father doesn’t approve of it, I know.

We’re both careful not to behave like friends around him.

But since the day I started work here at the mansion—since the day I met her—those feelings have been impossible to fully root out.

It’d be inappropriate even if she wasn’t your boss’s daughter, I remind myself as I turn on the hot water for the shower.

I took up the position as Estella’s personal bodyguard when she was eighteen and I was thirty-two.

Now, three years later, the age gap between us isn’t any better.

Just another layer on a cake of reasons why I should keep my fucking distance…

or as much as I can while still protecting her, anyway.

And yet, my mind keeps drifting back to the look on her face when she saw me climbing out of the pool.

A look that told me that she feels something very similar to what I’ve felt for three years now—the reason why every time I’m present when Estella uses the indoor swimming pool for laps, I stay outside.

For three years, I’ve done all I can to avoid seeing Estella Gallo in even the slightest state of undress.

When she goes for a swim in the outdoor pool or uses the mansion’s hot tub, I find somewhere else to be, appearing only once she’s come back down from changing afterward.

I’ve never entered her bedroom, only met her outside in the hall.

These are just a few of the rules I’ve set down for myself since the moment I met her and felt that sizzling burn of attraction—an attraction that I’ve been ashamed of since the moment I felt it.

Eighteen and thirty-two. I was nearly twice her age when I met her. I should be ashamed now, standing here with my stiff cock brushing against my abs, throbbing at the thought of Estella looking at it. Just looking at it. If I let myself imagine?—

“Stop it,” I bite out, muttering it to myself through clenched teeth as I step under the hot spray of water—water that I would have done better to make ice cold instead.

Yet another rule I set out for myself from the start—I can never, never allow myself to imagine Estella when my own hand is wrapped around my cock.

Every time I’ve ever come close to breaking that rule, I’ve forced myself to stop until I can think about something else—an old lover, porn I’ve watched, a celebrity that I find particularly sexy.

I’ve never allowed myself to jerk off thinking about her, and I’m not going to start today.

I’m not. That look on her face isn’t enough to make me break my rules.

If I start to let those fray, what happens next?

My self-control is the bulwark I’ve built between my own desires and the innocent girl who has no business being the subject of them.

I can’t allow anything to weaken those defenses.

What I should do, I think to myself as I start to scrub off the sweat and chlorine clinging to my skin, is get a hotel room in the city on my next day off.

I could go out to a bar, find someone to take back to my room, and work out some of this frustration.

It’s not something I do often; my life is too focused on my work for me to have any interest in dating.

I’ve never particularly wanted a relationship at all, let alone anything serious or long-lasting.

But a man has needs, and occasionally, I’ll pick up a woman just as eager to sate them.

It’s never difficult, but it’s also not all that much more satisfying than my own hand.

Still, it’s impossible to go forever without another person’s touch. And from time to time, indulging that need prevents me from making other, much worse mistakes.

I turn to rinse off the soap trailing down my body, and my cock throbs, reminding me that there’s something that needs to be indulged now .

I consider trying to ignore it, but I’m harder than I can remember having been in a long time, my erection nearly painful, my cockhead brushing against my navel.

I’m so fucking hard. I need to come, and I won’t be able to focus on anything else until I do.

Tipping my head back under the hot water and closing my eyes, I wrap my hand around my thick shaft, groaning as I stroke it once from root to tip, rubbing my palm over the swollen head.

Pleasure arcs down my spine, curling my toes against the warm tiles of the shower, and I lean forward, bracing my hand against the wall as I start to stroke with more purpose.

Fuck, that feels good. It would feel even better with warm, plush lips wrapped around my cock, stroking, sucking—an image pops into my head of Estella staring wide-eyed at the shape of my cock in my swim trunks, her full lips slightly parted, and in an instant, my thoughts are a speeding train wreck, running away with that image before I can stop them.

Estella, crossing the space to where I stepped out of the pool, sinking down onto her knees on the wet tile, her ponytail bouncing as she hooks her fingers in my wet swim trunks.

Those lips and eyes parting wider as she tugs them down and sees my long, thick erection spring free, slapping against my wet, taut flesh.

Her long, delicate fingers wrapping around my shaft, those plush lips pressed against my tip, her pink tongue sliding around the crown of it, lapping up my pre-cum?—

“ Fuck!” My jaw clenches, my hand squeezing my cock convulsively as I try to shove the thoughts out of my head.

I try to think of anything else—a porn clip I watched recently of one girl riding a man’s face while another sucked his cock, a man spraying cum all over an eager girl’s lips as she looked up at him wide-eyed…

anything but Estella. Anything but the girl that I’m supposed to protect, not lust after.

But I can’t focus on any of it. I can almost smell the sharp chlorine scent of the pool still, feel the warm, humid air as Estella sucks my cock into her mouth, gagging inexpertly on it as I push into the back of her throat, wrapping my hand in her ponytail to steady her?—

A string of curses spills from my lips as my orgasm hits me without warning, too fast and hard to force myself to think about anything else as I come.

My cock throbs and strains in my hand as I stroke feverishly, her name spilling from my lips as I paint the tiles with my cum, my muscles locked in spasm after spasm of pleasure as I imagine that cum filling her mouth, her lips glossy with it as I slide myself free.

“ Fuck … Estella —” I groan, still stroking as I squeeze the last drops of cum from my pulsing length, my chest heaving. I stay braced against the wall for a long moment, water dripping from my hair as I try to catch my breath.

In seconds, as the pleasure recedes and reality returns, guilt swamps me. I just did exactly what I’ve avoided doing for years, what I was only moments ago reminding myself of the reasons for why those rules exist. And there’s no taking it back now.

That fantasy is burned in my mind. It’ll take every bit of the self-control I have to re-gather to avoid thinking about it in the future.

And I’ll need to go down and face Estella shortly, and pretend that I didn’t just come harder than I ever have in my fucking life while I imagined her on her knees sucking my cock.

“Holy god , Sinclair,” I chastise myself, teeth gritted as I duck beneath the water again to wash myself clean. “What the fuck were you thinking?”