Page 20 of Ruthless Lord

Charlie

S tefano sleeps like the dead. The big monster climbs in beside me each night, lays his head on the pillow, closes his eyes, and instantly starts breathing in a shallow rhythm.

At first, I thought he was faking it, but now after a few days, it’s pretty clear he was blessed with the ability to flip his power off like he’s got a switch in the back.

Which is the total opposite of me.

I toss and turn. Nothing’s ever comfortable. Pillow between my legs, sheets shoved off, blankets piled on top. I’m never able to turn my brain off long enough for the silence to drag me down.

Best-case scenario, I’m rolling from side to side like a frustrated fish until sleep sneaks up and catches me unaware.

Tonight’s one of those nights, though, where no matter what, I can’t seem to quiet my body. I keep thinking about Stefano in the shower. About Emily holding that gun. About my clothes tucked away in strange drawers, hanging in odd closets, my things scattered all over a house that isn’t mine.

Beautiful but empty.

Is that really Stefano? Handsome and violent but hollow inside?

I keep catching glimpses of him, but every time I feel like he’s about to show me more, the big bastard retreats.

Like earlier today. He was actually worried about our safety. He went about it all wrong, but he was trying to protect me.

Then he made those sex comments just to mess around.

Now I don’t know what to think.

I’m frustrated, and deep in the dark of the night, there are certain truths I can’t escape.

Like for example, I’m supposed to be spying on him.

That’s grandfather’s one condition. It seems like I have a bunch of deals all over the place these days. If I want to get out of this marriage, and I really, really do, then I need to come through. Grandfather’s giving me some time and space to acclimate, but that won’t last.

He’ll want results.

Stefano’s chest rises and lowers. His lips are lightly parted and he looks slightly angry, even deep asleep. The man’s got resting asshole face. I slip from the bed, being as careful as I can, hands trembling as I tiptoe out into the hall and close the door behind me.

I hate this so much.

I’m a thief in my own house. And my husband is my victim.

His office is in the back room on this floor.

I pause, hand on the knob, wondering if I can just turn around.

I could feed my grandfather lies, give him crumbs, string him along.

But I know better than that. He’s too smart and ruthless to fall for something so obvious.

Grandfather will see through my bullshit and that’ll only make things worse.

I steel myself, even if it makes me sick. I slip into Stefano’s office and look around.

There’s not much to see.

He’s got a big desk. Some books on shelves. There’s lots of wood paneling and leather chairs. It’s like the image of what a man thinks an office should be, except it’s like the rest of his house.

Gorgeous on the outside.

But barely ever used.

I move slowly through the space. Dust on the shelves, dust on the books. The chair creaks when I sit on it. I shove my hand along the cushions, but abruptly stop. What if I find another gun?

I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I go to his desk.

If I’m doing this, I might as well do it.

I hate every second as I go through his drawers and find mostly pens, notepads, old charging wires, and several knives.

More knives than are appropriate, to be honest. I feel gross violating him like this, and I’m ready to give up when I open the bottom drawer.

More junk, at least until I find an old, crinkled photograph tucked in the back.

I lift it out, curious. There’s a young man to the left, definitely Stefano, standing beside an older woman who’s scowling and smoking a cigarette, wrinkled and stringy, red eyes glaring at whoever’s taking the picture.

They’re in Philly somewhere. I recognize the red brick row homes behind them.

Is this his mother? Or his grandmother? I don’t know anything about his life before me, and he never offers anything about it.

This is the first hint that he didn’t spring from some crack in the earth and claw his way here directly from hell.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

I flinch and look up. My entire body goes cold. Stefano’s standing in the doorway looking at me with a strange, impassive frown, like he’s more confused than angry.

“I was just—” I stare around me awkwardly. I think it’s pretty obvious what I was doing. I slowly raise the picture, smiling sheepishly. “Who’s this?”

He walks over. He’s in a pair of dark boxer briefs and a tight white shirt. His arms flex as he takes it from me and looks at it for a moment. “Nobody.”

“It’s definitely somebody. That’s you when you were young, right? I’m guessing like ten?”

“Eight,” he corrects, frown deepening. “I was always big.”

“Wow, okay, impressive. But who’s the woman?”

“My grandmother.” He hands the picture back to me. “Put it away and come to bed.”

I take it, honestly surprised he doesn’t seem more pissed, and shove it into the drawer where I found it. “Did you live with her? When you were younger?”

“She took me in.”

“How old were you?”

“Six.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“Not around.” He turns and walks out of the office.

I get up, honestly not sure how to feel. He just caught me snooping, but he doesn’t seem to care. Which makes me think I’m not going to find anything interesting in this office even if I tore it to pieces.

I follow after him. Curiosity’s tugging at me. His sudden short answers make me want to prod him more. I’ve found he does that to deflect away from topics he doesn’t like. He acts all gruff and scary, and most people probably just leave him alone.

But that’s not my style.

“Did they pass away?” I ask, climbing into bed beside him.

He’s staring at the ceiling. “Go to sleep. And stop looking through my things.” His eyes close. “You’re lucky you didn’t find another gun.”

“What was it like living with your grandmother? Did she always smoke?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Yes, she always smoked.”

“Did you two get along?”

“Not really.”

“Is that why there aren’t any other pictures of her?”

“Probably.”

I lean in closer and pitch my voice low. “If you tell me more about your childhood, I’ll suspend our deal for a full day.”

His eyes open. He looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Tempting.”

“Thank you. That’s a very good compliment.”

But then he closes them again. “I’ll pass.”

“God, you’re a prick.” I flop against my pillow with a groan. “How’d you end up joining the Marino Famiglia? Who’d you know?”

“Too many bad people.”

“Try being more specific.”

He blows air from his nostrils like an annoyed horse. “Luca. A few others. To the surprise of no one, I was a big, troubled young man, and I found violence came easy to me.” His face tightens for a moment. “That’s why everything always fucking aches.”

“I keep forgetting you’re an old man.”

“Which is why I need so much sleep.”

“If that’s a hint, I choose to ignore it. Did your grandmother know you were getting in trouble?”

“She knew.” He looks at me then, his eyes dark and troubled. “She didn’t like it.”

There’s a strange heaviness to the way he says that.

I don’t say anything and his eyes close again.

I have to remember that we come from different worlds.

I grew up in a mansion with a rich grandfather who treated me both like a princess and a punching bag.

I was given everything, but I was also molded to be the Westbrook heir.

Stefano didn’t have that privilege. What he’s got now, he earned all by himself. I can’t begin to imagine the struggle he went through as a young man, and the fact that he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it only makes me think it was worse than I’m imagining.

I wish he’d talk. We’re stuck in this relationship together, and we might as well get a feel for each other.

I’m tempted then. I know it’s stupid. He’s not asleep yet, but I can tell he’s trying.

I reach out through the narrow space keeping us apart and I brush my fingers down his muscular chest. A thrill runs into my core.

Like this is somehow wrong and forbidden.

His eyes open again, and this time there’s a spark in his gaze.

“We never said I couldn’t touch you,” I whisper, not really sure what’s coming over me, only that I keep thinking about his fist wrapped around his dick and how many secrets he’s keeping, and god, maybe I can do something dumb and reckless, but something that I want for once. “I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

He says nothing. My fingers graze down lower, over his upper abdomen, down to his chiseled stomach. He’s flexed and tense. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, only that his mouth’s parted slightly. I want to kiss him, but I don’t.

Instead, my hand keeps going down, down to his belly button, down to the waistband of his boxer briefs. Slowly, I slip inside.

My heart’s racing. My mouth is watering. I’m shaking with anticipation. This isn’t going to help me sleep.

But I don’t care. It’s dark and he’s beautiful, and I want to do something stupid.

Something for myself. Not for my family, not for my grandfather.

For me.

My fingers graze over the tip of his dick. He’s half hard already, and as I wrap my hand around his shaft, he quickly stiffens.

“Is this what you do to yourself?” I whisper, chest aching with fear and excitement.

“Just like that.” His voice is laced with sin and lust. I want to drink that sound and drown in it.

“Tell me what you think about.” I tug his boxer briefs down, releasing his massive dick, and kick the sheets away.

I want to see him. And god, I’m rewarded with a beautiful cock, veiny and big, achingly hard and twitching with his heart.

My fingers barely touch around his girth.

I rub my palm around his tip, smearing his precum into my hand, before stroking him again, gliding up and down.

“I picture your sweet skin under my hands,” he whispers as I keep stroking.

“You know the sound you make? When I spank you? It’s a whimper, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

It’s the same noise you make as you’re about to come.

I picture you moaning under my hands. My fingers deep inside, gliding in and out, teasing your clit, driving you wild.

Do you know how much I love seeing you squirm? ”

“You want to fuck me more, don’t you?” His steel-hard cock suggests he absolutely does. “Would you fuck me now if I asked?”

“It’s taking all my willpower not to touch you.”

“That’s good.” I stroke him faster, up and down, gliding root to tip. “I didn’t give you permission.”

His eyes blaze into mine. His jaw’s set and locked. “You’re teasing me.”

“A little bit. But I’m also enjoying this.”

“You know what’s funny?” He leans forward suddenly, propping himself on one elbow, his mouth coming close to mine.

I gasp in surprise, stroking him faster.

He moves so fast, but he doesn’t cross the line.

His breath is warm on mine and I can almost taste his minty, whiskey-tinged tongue.

I want it, silky and delicious, dominating me, drinking me down, but I don’t move.

Except for my hand. “You think you’re winning. ”

Desire fills my head like liquor. I’m dizzy and excited. I go faster, pumping my little fist along his big dick. “Seems like you’re the one jerking off in the shower while picturing me.”

“Only because I know what I want, while you’re walking around pretending like you don’t want me to fuck you into a quivering mess.”

“Shit.” I bite my lip to stop from moaning. “You really think that?”

“I think you’re trying to decide if you want me to come or not. But either way, I get what I want.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole.” I stroke him harder now, faster and faster. “You conceited prick.”

“You beautiful fucking girl. I want to destroy your lovely ass with my tongue. I want to fuck you until you scream. I’ll pull your hair and fill your pretty fucking mouth with my cock. Unleash me, Charlie. Ask me to touch you. Tell me you want me to fucking ruin you.”

“Go to hell, you arrogant asshole.” I stroke his tip and watch as his eyes glaze in pure bliss. “You’ll die before you ever feel my tongue on your cock.”

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, and I watch his control slip. “Damn it, Charlie.”

“Are you going to beg now? Are you going to beg me to suck you? You want me to slip your big dick in my mouth, don’t you? I’ll get my spit all over your shaft. I don’t mind making a mess.”

“God damn it,” he moans, eyes rolling back. I jerk him harder, pumping his massive head and stroking down his shaft.

“Come on, beg me. I know you want to. Break for me, Stefano. Beg your wife to taste you.”

His eyes lock onto mine. The pure yearning is the most arousing thing I’ve ever seen in my life. “Please, Charlie. Suck my fucking cock. Give me what I need.”

God, yes, oh my god, I shove him back and lean forward, taking his tip into my mouth, salty and warm, and I suck him hard because he finally shattered for me, he bent and I won, and I suck his tip and lick him and let my spit slide down his shaft as I take him deep into my throat?—

He bursts on my tongue. His moans are low guttural roars.

I keep going, licking and sucking, swallowing him, moaning as I do it.

I’ve never felt so turned on in my life, never been so powerful before.

To make a man like him give me what I want, that’s the sweetest sin I’ve ever tasted.

His warm, salty cum fills my mouth, and I pull back, gasping for air when he’s finally done.

I stare at him in the darkness. He’s breathing hard and looking back, face a mixture of bliss and horror. I put my fingers in my mouth, licking what’s left of him from them.

“Are you sure you’re winning?” I ask when I’m done.

He doesn’t answer. Only watches me with lust and need all over his face. I stare back before finally tearing myself from the bed and retreating into the bathroom.

I lock the door behind me.

All it takes is ten seconds of stroking my clit before I come so hard I nearly black out, biting down on a towel to keep him from hearing.

Fuck. God, that was so good. And so fucking stupid. I fix myself in the mirror, taking another couple minutes to get myself together.

When I climb back into bed, it’s like nothing happened.

He’s sleeping or pretending to sleep.

I’m tossing and turning.

But now the game’s getting more complicated, and all I know is I want to keep playing.