Page 2

Diego

I shouldn’t be here. I know this. But knowing doesn’t stop me.

The rain has stopped now. I watch her through the windows of her apartment. She lives on the ground floor, which only makes me fear for her security even more. She’s sitting on the couch alone, nursing her wine bottle as she did the night before. Her movements are slow, deliberate, as though every shift of her body carries the weight of her grief. She takes a few swigs and then she places the bottle down after retrieving something from the side of the couch.

She’s beautiful, even now. Especially now. There’s something about the way sorrow clings to her that draws me in. Her blonde hair spills over her shoulders, catching the light like threads of gold. She tucks a strand behind her ear, and the gesture is so small, so unremarkable, but it sends a pulse of heat through me. It’s ridiculous. Pathetic, even. Yet, I can’t look away.

I tell myself I’m here to keep her safe. To fulfill the promise I made to étienne, even if I didn’t deserve to. But that’s not the whole truth. I’m here because I need to see her. Because the memory of her from the funeral—her pale face, those blue eyes glazed with tears—has been haunting me, pulling me back to her like gravity.

She shifts in her seat, leaning forward slightly, and my eyes trail the curve of her back, the way her skirt clings to her body. Her waist narrows, and I can see the outline of her hips where the fabric hugs her. My mouth goes dry. She’s... perfect. Too perfect. It makes me angry—how someone can be so effortlessly captivating without even trying. It’s not fair. It’s not fair how she’s under my skin, in my veins, consuming me when she doesn’t even know I exist.

I watch as she lifts her hips and removes her underwear from beneath her skirt. What is she doing?

It is then that I see that the thing in her hand is a vibrator, a rather small one at that. Surely she's not about to…

I watch as she presses the top of the vibrator and then she lifts her skirt up to her stomach showing off her perfect cunt. Fully shaven? I would have pegged her for a girl that leaves hair. But the fact that it's smooth makes me lick my lips.

There's just something about a freshly shaved pussy that makes a man weak in the knees. It makes eating her out that much more—no. What the hell is wrong with me? This woman is not another one of my quick lays. This is a mark, a mission that I'm on to soothe my own internal guilt. She is not one of the women I fuck.

I watch her intently. I analyze every twitch, flick and movement that comes from her. There's something entrancing about her. I don't know how to explain it. I can't help but stop and stare at her.

She places the vibrator inside of her perfect pussy. She drills it into her hole and she arches her back off of the couch. She moans into the empty room, her other hand kneading her breast gently.

Fuck. Even from where I stand, I can see the slickness coating the inside of her thigh.

She moves the vibrator in and out of her pussy, bringing herself closer and closer to the edge. I watch as she moans and bites on her lip. My penis hardens in my pants, tenting the fabric of my trousers.

I am hard as shit. It takes all my strength not to reach into my pants and grab my cock with my hand and pump the shit out of it.

My fingers tighten around the edge of the window frame. I know I should leave. Go back to my car, drive away, and let her have this moment of peace. But I can’t. She’s a drug, and I’ve been starved of the high she gives me. Every glance, every movement, every breath she takes is another hit, and I’m too weak to stop myself from wanting more.

I imagine the way my cock would fill her tight little pussy. The way I would sink my teeth into her soft skin to make her scream my name. I want her writhing under me. My mind rages with different scenarios. Does she scream? Will she cream? Does she prefer it in her pussy or her ass or both?

“Yes, oh fuck yes!” She screams into the room. “Fuck, I need more.”

She is taking the edge off. I know that whatever demons she is facing, she is simply trying to run from them one stroke at a time.

I can give her every stroke she needs. The thought flashes across my mind, but I don't allow it to take hold. The last thing I need is to fuck at work. But that vibrator will do her no justice. She needs something better–she needs me.

I shake my head, trying to shake that thought from my head. I cannot indulge those thoughts even for the most minuscule of milliseconds.

“Yes!” She screams, and then she comes undone completely. Her body shakes and trembles, her legs coming together and squeezing the life out of her orgasm.

Beautiful. I have never laid eyes on anything so…perfect in my entire life.

She calms as her orgasm comes to a close. She stays on the couch for a moment, unmoving, the vibrator still in her hole. She blinks her eyes open and stares at the ceiling.

I want to know her. The feeling overwhelms me. What is she about? What makes her tick? What brings her to the brink of insanity?

She stands suddenly, her figure moving toward the window. My pulse jumps, panic flooding my chest. For a moment, I think she’s seen me. But she stops in front of the glass, her hands pressing against the cool surface as she stares into the night. Her eyes don’t find me; they’re unfocused, lost in whatever storm is raging inside her. Still, the sight of her this close, separated from me by only a thin sheet of glass, makes my heart pound in my ears.

Her breath fogs the window slightly as she exhales, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking. Is she replaying memories of her brother? Mourning the life she’s lost? Or is she like me—haunted by things she can’t name, longing for something just out of reach?

I step back into the shadows, my body tense, every muscle coiled like a spring. I know I shouldn’t want this. She’s grieving, broken, and I’m the last person who should be near her. I’m poison, the kind of man who ruins everything he touches. But none of that matters when I’m this close to her, when the only thing keeping me away is my own self-control—a control that’s slipping more and more with every passing second.

I tear my eyes away, forcing myself to look at the ground instead of her. But even then, the image of her lingers in my mind.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me out of the haze. I glance at the screen, my jaw tightening at the name flashing across it. Marco. A reminder of the world I should be focusing on, the responsibilities I’ve been ignoring.

Marco: “You’re on club duty. Maranelli’s kids are here.”

I have to hold back the roll of my eyes. I hate when they stick me on babysitting duty. But they pay me well enough to do it anyway. Had it not been for the money, I would have killed those fuckers years ago.

As I step deeper into the shadows, blending into the night, one thought takes root in my mind, refusing to let go: Camille Dupont is trouble, and I will need to be careful.

I need to keep my distance, or it could mean the end of both her and I.

***

I am still hard as shit by the time I get to the club. Montague is filled to the brim, as to be expected on a Friday night. I don’t want to be here, but I have a duty to fulfill. All I keep thinking about is blonde hair and blue eyes.

Camille Dupont.

I have fucked a lot of women in my time. Women of all races, shapes and sizes. I know my way around a pussy; I have sampled enough to know which are my favorite. But for some reason, I am stuck on hers, and I haven’t even tasted it yet.

The effect that she has on me is unprecedented. She should not even be a single speck of thought in my head. But here she is, haunting me, the same way that I see her brother’s bloodied face in my mind.

étienne. I shouldn’t care this much about a mark, but he was different. I stared into his eyes with my gun to his head. He had begged me, pleaded with me to watch over his sister. I should have never agreed, but how could I not? It was a part of the code. Duty for duty, and I'm a man of honor and code.

I throw my drink back, the sound of music bouncing off the walls and the scent of desperation and sex lingering in the air. I hate being here, and it is one the least fun assignments I get to do for the Italians.

I make sure to stick to the bar. The last thing I want to do is to be caught in Maranelli Jr's shenanigans. The kid is a spitfire and the exact opposite of his father.

I turn my head to the side and catch a pair of green eyes. They are as cunning as a snake's and lethal as a black widow. Of course she's here. When there is a room filled with unsuspecting millionaires, this woman is never far behind. I look away, not wanting to indulge her nonsense. The last thing I need is to get caught up in her web–again.

A pair of crystal blue eyes flash across my mind. The tears that glistened in her sweet oceans made me want to kill. I have never met a woman who can destabilize me so…easily. Men are weak for pussy, but not all pussy is worth killing for, but Camille’s? Well…

I shake my head. I need to get her out of my head, and the best way is to get someone to fuck her out of my mind.

I look to my left, and I spot that viper still there, sipping on her martini. She stares at me over the rim of her glass, waiting and watching as she always does. I know the game that Isabel plays.

She is in the corner of the club. Nothing about her screams Camille. Brown hair, brown eyes, and the most devious face you have ever seen. She is a vixen, and the innocence of the woman I am trying to forget is non-existent in her.

Perfect. This is exactly what I need.

I storm over in her direction, my goal already set. I know what she wants, and I am willing to give her exactly that—sex and the hope of winning my heart, at least for a few minutes. I will tear her pussy apart.

My heart belongs to no woman; it doesn’t even belong to me because there is nothing there. It doesn’t beat, nor does it bleed. There is no emotion there to claim.

She watches me with a smirk on her face as I approach her. She thinks that she has won but she doesn’t know the game she has started, and I play to win.

“Hola Diego,” she purrs as soon as I am in hearing range. “You look good, babes.”

“Shut up.”

I grab her hand and pull her from the corner toward the bathroom. She places her glass on an empty table and allows me to take her away from her hiding space, no questions asked.

Good girl.

I drag her into the bathroom, pushing in front of the line of people who have been waiting for their turn. They all scream their disapproval, but I don’t give a shit. I have urgent matters to attend to–fucking Camille Dupont out of my mind.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” One scrawny little idiot grabs the edge of the door to keep it from closing.

“If you like your hand, I suggest you remove it from this door immediately. I am not in the mood.”

The ice in my voice even sent a lone chill down my spine. I am already teetering on the edge, and the last thing that I need right now is to get into it with a bunch of dipwads.

The guy gives me a petrified stare before he steps back. I slam the door in his face and turn to Isabel, who is already sitting on the closed toilet bowl with her legs spread wide for me. She dips her fingers into her wet pussy and swirls around her slickness. She moans dramatically as if that is what is going to get me going.

“Commando?” I cock my eyebrow.

“I had a feeling you would be here tonight, and I thought you might want one of our sessions.”

She swirls her fingers in her wetness and bites down on her lip to make her look more seductive.

Stupid woman. I chose her to help me forget about the woman who has been stuck in my head.

I pull her to her feet and slam the front of her body against the wall. She winces in pain, but then she lets out a flirtatious laugh, which is all I need to continue. I am into making women feel pain, but only if they want it. There is no point in forcing my strength on someone who doesn’t like it. I lift her dress, exposing her ass. I slap the perky little thing, and I watch with deep satisfaction as the imprint of my hand falls on her ass. It’s large and serves as a branding of sorts. I hit her ass again, and she yelps, and this time she pushes back on me. I can feel the arousal that coats her pussy, dripping down the inside of her leg.

“Wet already, Isbael? Just like the good little whore you are.” I slap her ass again, and this time I grab her hair and wind it around my hand and pull it back.

“Hit me again, baby.” She growls and looks over her shoulder. “Mark me! Yes!”

“Shut up!” I slam my cock into her pussy, ripping her in two. She screams, and I grunt loudly, loving the feeling of her wetness around my cock. “You want to be fucked like a whore, Isabel?”

“Oh!” She screams, her hands come to the wall, and she arches her back into me. She pushes up against my cock, trying to get me to fill her even more.

Greedy little thing.

I slap her ass again, but this time I don’t let go. I dig my nails into her, forcing the image of Camille fucking herself with that vibrator out of my mind. I still keep seeing the flashes of her arched back and her fingers playing with her clit and easing herself into an orgasm.

I pull out of Isabel, and then I plunge right back into her, making sure this time I go in balls deep. I fill her up to the very brim before I pull out of her and slam right back into her. My movements are forceful, almost punishing. I throw myself into her, pinching her ass and biting down on her shoulder.

She is wild. She pushes back, meeting me thrust for thrust. She's greedy, wild, and unhinged and that is exactly how I like them. There's something about these women that makes my blood heat and the rawness of my soul ignite.

“Yes, fuck me like you hate me!” She screams. “Oh yes…yes…right there, Diego!”

Her pleas can be heard over the loud boom of the music.

A pounding at the door comes, and I know it’s one of the people in the line. I remove my hand from her hair and place my hand against the wooden door. The last thing that I want is these little shits ruining this for me.

I can feel the edge drawing in closer. Her walls constrict around me, pushing me closer to the edge until, finally, the orgasm surges through my body.

It's violent. Uncaged and filled with a rawness that I’m used to. I let out a roar so loud that it moves above the noise of the music. She lets out a rippling scream that pierces right through my thick thoughts.

I try to push her out of my mind, but then her face flashes across my brain. I see her arch her back off of the couch, coming like the orgasm was this violent assault on all her senses.

Fuck.

I snap my eyes open, and I rip my dick from Isabel’s pussy. I tuck myself away and walk out of the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door. I hear her call after me but I don't stop. I need to get some air to clear my thoughts.

She is not only assaulting me physically but she is assaulting me mentally now as well. She is everywhere I turn; she is in everything I look at.

I need to stay away from her. She is not good for me.