Page 80 of King of Obsession

It’d been years since I’d slept with anyone.

Not that I hadn’t wanted to; I’d just suppressed my needs, given my solitary life.

Until Alessio.

I sensed he’d be a fantastic lover.

It was in how he moved, with predatory power, powered by his thick thighs, six-pack chest, and corded neck.

I found myself obsessing over those erotic lips, his sinewed hands, and his lithe body.

He made me want to experiment, to explore, to go buck wild, unfettered by all the cares in my freakin’ world.

He kept giving me glimpses of a sensual, seductive man with an unrestrained generosity I’d never be able to repay, enticing me to kiss him, stroke him, ride him.

Oh, Dio!

Seeking sanity, I focused on dinner.

The food was triumphant, and when I served it, Alessio cherished it, making appreciative moans while he ate.

I smiled, warmed by his appreciation, trying my damnedest to ignore the spikes of desire it sent through me.

I squeezed my thighs and hoped to goodness my hardened nipples weren’t pebbling through my shirt.

At one point, I caught him flick his eyes to my chest, but his face remained inscrutable.

A small smile played on it as we shared a light-hearted conversation at dinner.

I asked him about his childhood, and he indulged me.

Relaxing with a glass of Pinot Noir, he launched into anecdotes about his early life in Italy. ‘Growing up with three brothers was never boring,’ he rasped with a chuckle. ‘We were always getting into trouble, playing pranks on each other, driving our poor mother to the brink of insanity.’

Despite myself, the corners of my mouth twitched, a smile threatening to break through my stoic facade.

Alessio’s eyes sparkled as he recounted a particularly memorable incident involving a goat, a paint bucket, and his eldest brother’s prized motorcycle.

‘Lorenzo’s Ducati was covered in white pigment for months until my father agreed to restore it to its chrome beauty. All because a pair of fucking goats couldn’t help themselves head-butting each other in the garden.’

‘I love goats!’ I exclaimed. ‘They’re so endearing and always look like they are smiling. They’re so unbearably adorable. In my opinion, second only to kittens on the cuteness scale.’

‘They’re also little shits. Fuckin’ butt heads. Can’t tell you how many of them took me down for no reason.’

As he spoke, I was drawn into his world, one so different from mine.

It was filled with laughter, love, and carefree joy I had never experienced.

For an instant, I imagined what it would have been like to grow up in a family like Alessio’s.

To have siblings to play with and parents who loved and protected me.

But the moment was fleeting, and reality came crashing back down around me.

My childhood had been nothing like his.

There’d been no joy nor affection, only fear, pain, and the constant struggle to survive. I’d been robbed of the innocence that Alessio had enjoyed, and the realization left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

I pushed my plate away, suddenly not hungry.

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