Page 20 of Surprise Pregnancy for Villain

“Of course, I was,” Giovanni replies. “But that was a closed environment. There were people to make sure you toe the line. Now, it appears, that task falls to me.”

“I’m twenty now,” I argue. “I’m an adult in the eyes of the law. I don’t need to be ‘kept an eye on’, and I can choose what I want to do with my future. I want to get a college degree and a job; make a career for myself.”

My father’s expression changes from unsympathetic to patronizing, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Nicki, sweetheart,” he says, his voice softening in that irksome, chiding way that only a parent can muster. “Must we do this every time? When will you understand I’m only indulging your college attendance to keep you occupied until you are married?”

“When will you understand that I’m trying to change your mind?”

Daddy gives me a patient stare. “When you become Lucca’s wife, you’ll have no need for degrees or a career. You already have one, anyway, as the daughter and soon the wife of a Don. You’ll be preserving the family line, be respected, and protected; your every need taken care of, as it always has. I don’t know why you resist all that is yours by right. You’ll have the world at your feet; servants to attend to you and an endless line of credit for all the shopping and vacations a girl could wish for. Accept your destiny, my dear. You’ll come to appreciate it, I am certain.”

My anger rises higher with every word he speaks, as though my destiny is written in stone and can never be changed. As though all women are brain-dead and could want nothing more than to never lift a finger except to get their nails done. I will not be patronized, not even by my father. He has no idea what I want or what I’m capable of.

“You think that’s all a woman ever wants?” I ask heatedly. “Cars and furs and designer purses and plastic surgery? Well, you’re wrong. I know my mother wanted more than that, but she never lived to fulfill her dreams, did she?”

Giovanni’s face turns cold and rocky once more at the mention of my mother. He looks away, focusing his gaze out the front windows of the car. “Your mother knew her place,” he says evenly, but I hear an undertone of pain in his voice. I was told my mother died of a serious illness. I was very young, but I don’t remember her being sick. I remember her coloring pictures and finger painting with me. I remember her laughing, and music playing in the background. Now I wonder if there was more to the story. Was she independent, like me? Did she have her dreams and ambitions quashed, too, and was never sick at all but ended up paying for her free-spiritedness with her life?

Perhaps I remind him of her. Perhaps I’ve inherited her creative but willful genes and might meet the same end if I don’t bend to my father’s will. The thought chills me to the bone, and at the same time, I understand. If what I suspect is true, it means he lost mom to her desire for more than just being a mafia wife. If Lucca is anything like my father—or worse—then Daddy fears he’ll lose me, too.

It’s a speculation but a terrifying one. I can’t marry Lucca. There’s no way.

Father clears his throat, as though expelling any trace of emotion that his voice might betray. “No, I won’t be available to ride to classes with you every day,” he says, changing the subject from one he obviously refuses to talk about. “But you will have an escort, nonetheless.” The car cruises to a stop at my drop-off point. “Vito will pick you up here at 4:00, so don’t dawdle.”

Clearly, that’s all I’m going to get out of him, and it’s just as well. He’ll never tell me the truth, and he’ll never let me do what I want. It’s useless to argue with him. Now, I’m more determined than ever to take matters into my own hands.

I heave a frustrated sigh. “Have a good day, Father,” I say.

On the other side of the privacy screen, our head chauffeur Vito slips out of the driver’s seat and comes around to the passenger side to open my door. I step out and hurry to the nearby entrance of the Fine Arts building without looking back. I’ve never called him ‘father’ before, and I’m not sure why I did just now. Perhaps it’s because I never will again, and it's my subconscious’ way of saying goodbye forever.

My first class is life drawing, and as I enter the studio, I’m a little shocked by today’s model. I nearly blush as the handsome guy takes his clothes off in front of the whole class, revealing a well-toned, tanned body and a decent-sized, yet flaccid penis. I look away, and busy myself setting up my easel and sketch paper and arranging my pencils in the tray with nervous hands.

I see my classmates begin to draw as the model sprawls himself on the draped couch. He lays on his side and props himself up on one elbow, resting his head in one hand and draping his other arm on his waist. I try to focus on the assignment, but my mind wanders to the nude model. I’ve seen naked men before, but I’ve never been with one. This sketching assignment is probably the closest thing to ‘getting laid that I’ll get. I stifle a laugh and shake my head to myself.

I pick up my pencil and begin to draw. Glancing at the model from behind the safety of my easel, I notice he’s looking straight at me with big blue eyes. However, it’s nothisface that registers in my mind.

The image of those deep green eyes makes me squirm in my seat. His chiseled features occupy the mental canvas in my head. I picture him lying on that couch, his long hair caressing his muscular shoulders, that beautiful body on display, that mysterious stare piercing right through me. He licks his lips, and my breath catches in my throat, and I feel a funny, tingling jolt between my thighs. His hand strokes his cock ever so lightly, making me gasp.

The model finally averts his gaze, unlocking me from the semi-hypnotic state I’m in. I exhale andtry to focus on sketching the first outlines of my drawing, but each time I look at the subject, all I can see is the stranger from the club.

He shifts from his pose, getting to his feet in slow motion. I swallow as he walks to me. With a fluid motion, he lifts me. I straddle him. I’m naked, my body ready to take him. His thick girth slides into me, stretching me as I moan in pleasure.

Is that what sex feels like? Pleasurable? Shouldn’t it hurt, especially with his size? I guess not because all I feel is a bubble of ecstasy in my stomach, along with the urge to ride him until we both lose our minds. I grip his shoulders, my legs tight around him as I bounce, his cock slicing through my slick heat. Years of watching porn makes the fantasy even more vivid.

We move to the couch, caressing each other’s bodies, reveling in the touch of skin on skin. He kisses me and rolls onto his back. He pulls me on top of him, and I straddle him so that my legs are wide apart. His delicious cock pierces me again, and I scream from the thrill…

An elbow nudges me in the side, breaking my trance.

“You okay?” my classmate asks.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve literally been frozen for the last couple of minutes.” She sniggers, jerking her head toward the model. “I mean, it’s understandable, but you might want to get a move on. Professor just announced we have ten minutes left.”

Hot-faced, I respond with a smile as she goes back to her drawing. Fantasy sex is one thing, but I consider that crazy and impulsive idea of marrying Simon. If that happened, I’d be doing with him what I’ve been fantasizing withthat man. It doesn’t seem as much fun with someone I consider just a friend. I’m not sure I could do it.

My first time should be with hot. Passionate. Fulfilling. Done with a man that I’m crazy about, someone who’s just as crazy for me. It’s not Simon. It’s definitely not Lucca.

As my pencil scratches out the figure of the handsome model on paper, the unbidden vision pops up in my head. I’m lying in bed with Lucca, hanging onto the headboard as he bangs into me like a wild, rutting animal. I stare at the wall, wishing it would be over, not enjoying it at all. I feel trapped beneath the weight of his body, unable to escape, knowing there’d be even worse punishment if I refused him.

Goosebumps cover me as my entire body shivers, not from pleasure but sheer terror. This cannot be my fate. I finish the drawing with angry, dark strokes. Something has to give.

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