Page 37 of One Rule

Micah

Inever made it to Orlando in the early morning hours on Saturday.

Not Sunday.

Not Monday either.

Yet, I did manage to bring Liliana one step closer to living with me. There are only two penthouses on this floor and no one knows they’re connected by a small hallway that leads from my closet to hers. I want it that way. This is a backup insurance in case of an emergency, and with the position her father has unknowingly put them in, I’m glad I thought to do so.

The area is wider than an average hallway and is dimly lit. On one side, there are wall-to-ceiling windows while on the opposite side, I have pictures of her throughout the years. From when we met up to her last birthday, they highlight each milestone. Her smile and the way she turned from a sassy teen to a stunning woman before my eyes, but my favorite will always be the ones of us together.

Family shared Christmases.

Days spent out on the beach.

Every fucking special moment that matters.

And one day soon, I’ll show her these. Gift her the proof of just how much I’ve obsessed and waited—always loved her while giving her room to grow while protecting her from the horrors of our world. Because our lives will never be normal. We walk a fine line between crime and nobility while embracing the inevitability of spilling the enemies' blood.

A few more feet, and I’m inside her private quarters via a moveable storage unit meant to house her shoes. A hidden door: this little arrangement lets me come and go as I please, and right now, I’m pleased by the sight that greets me atop the oversized white ottoman at the center. Tufted and in a soft fabric; her clothes from today are strewn across it, the only mess in the space, while the rest is neatly organized by color and fabric. She’s unpacked and made herself at home.

No more boxes. No more living out of her luggage.

The tight, high-waisted skirt with buttons running down the left side along with her top, a cap-sleeved light pink number is soft beneath my fingertips. I skim them across each item. Slowly and savoring; I breathe in deep as her cupcake scent infiltrates my senses and bathes me in warmth. It fills and settles me. It helps me relax after a stressful day and it further cements how much I truly love this woman.

Every part of her. Always only her.

Moving each piece aside, I bite my bottom lip as her lingerie is next.

Peach-colored and lace, the bra is delicate with sheer cups that don’t hide a damn thing. Her nipples—such lovely little tight tips—have been playing with my control all day. During our quick mid-morning coffee date, they beaded for me. In the afternoon, when she dropped off a merchandising report with the mock-ups for a new line of loungewear and souvenirs, they’d been highlighted by the sunshine coming through my office floor-to-ceiling windows.

I could almost make out their exact shade. How tight they get in my presence.

And there was the thin, crisscrossing pattern just below the underwire of her bra in the same material that ties together in a bow mid-abdomen. It’s sexy. Exquisite. And the matching bottoms are even more tempting.

“Christ, rebel.” This couldn’t be called underwear. Not with how tiny and fragile the gusset meant to cover her cunt is. Indecent is what it should be called and fuck, if I’m not hard.

I’m throbbing. Jerking behind the fabric of my joggers as I bring her thong up to my nose and inhale, groaning when I find a little bit of wetness at the center. Just a bit, but it’s enough to have me tugging my pants low enough to free my cock.

I grip myself tight as I run the tip of my tongue across the lace. Stroke my dick, up and down roughly, as the pure sweetness of her pussy overtakes my senses. I’m fucking my fist while she sleeps just a few feet from where I stand inside her walk-in. Unleashing my lust while the cause and need isn’t aware of just how fucking close the devil plays to his princess.

“But it will never be enough, Liliana. Nothing short of the day you wear my ring will settle me.” Closing my eyes, I pick up my pace. Each brutal tug is near angry, I’ve been denying myself for so long—sacrificed what I wanted to give her what she needs—but the time to collect what I’ve earned is near.Almost.

Pumping my hips to that thought, I take another deep lungful of her scent in its most natural form.

Sweet. Decadent. Pure.

It sits on the tip of my tongue and I can’t stop myself from imagining the day I eat her cunt for the first time. How soft and wet she’ll be as I grip her thighs while holding her in place, licking every drop of her slick heat. How she’ll tremble beneath me as I feel her tiny hole clench—trying to get any part of me inside of her while I slide the fat of my tongue through her labia.

“Fuck. Fucking hell, baby,” I hiss out through clenching teeth, coming into my hand as I bite down on the almost nonexistent lace. It further ignites me, her scent and that tiny bit of wetness controlling each snap of my hips and the painful grip of my girth.

My release hits hard and messy. It spills and slips, falling onto her clothes and the edge of the ottoman pulling a satisfied grin from me. I have no shame nor do I care. Instead, I’m filled with animalistic pride at marking my territory.

Because she is just that. Motherfucking mine.

Leaving her clothing as is, all except her underwear, I exit her closet and straight into her bedroom. My angel is sleeping, face down and one leg pulled which only serves to angle her ass up. It’s round and accentuated by the thin sheet covering her small body atop the king size bed—an exact replica to mine—I bought for her.

My eyes travel around the room and I’m pleased to see traces of her everywhere.

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