Page 34 of Burning Beauty

"Maria." She barely paused to catch his next words. "You will be in my room this evening at 9pm."

Chapter Eighteen

What did one wear to their inevitable deflowering?

Okay, so Maria wasn't exactly a virgin. She'd had a fiancé and a few boyfriends before Marc. But the idea of fucking Nic sent her into a tailspin. She felt like a virgin all over again because she was so far out of his league, she had no idea what to expect. Did rich people fuck differently? Did mobsters fuck differently?

Marc had by far been her best experience. He had worshipped Maria, and spent time extending that worship up and down her body, exploring her with his fingers and his mouth. She knew she had been lucky, as many of her friends at the time had never experienced an orgasm.

She felt a small pang of regret as she thought of Marc. Gone for five years now, but as long as she still thought about him, thought about the happier times, he was not forgotten.

She sifted through the various outfits in her new wardrobe, thinking that his lord of darkness probably wouldn't be too pleased to know that Maria was thinking about her ex-lover while searching for an outfit to wear to Nic's bedroom.

Finally, she chose a rather plain sleeveless cotton T-shirt that fell to her knees making it a nightshirt. She brushed her hair and teeth and then sat on her bed. It was only 7:50pm. She had over an hour before she would be expected in Nic’s bedroom. She yawned and looked longingly at her bed. Maybe she would just close her eyes for a few minutes, get some sleep for what she believed would be a long and both emotionally and physically exhausting night ahead.

As Maria fell asleep, she thought about setting her alarm, knowing her penchant for sleeping like the dead and waking up with zombie-ism. She stretched an arm out and fell asleep just like that, curled on her side, her nightshirt riding up her curvy thighs and her hand resting on top of the nightstand next to the clock.

* * *

Nic was annoyed. Why couldn't the woman do anything she was told?

He strode down the hallway at a fast clip, determined to finally show Maria the importance of showing up on time when she was summoned. He didn't knock when he reached her room, just pushed the door open and walked in. He expected to find her either getting ready or defiantly waiting for him. Instead, after a glance around the room, he found her sprawled on her bed.

At first, he thought this was another game she was playing to avoid him, but as he approached the bed he realized she was sound asleep. Really, really sound asleep. She was laying on her side, one leg thrown over the other in a twist that looked uncomfortable, with one arm resting on top of her nightstand. He dropped to a knee next to the bed to get a closer look.

Gently he moved the hair off her face. She didn't move. Her mouth was slightly parted as she breathed in and out, her eyes firmly shut with her lashes brushing against the tops of her cheeks. He trailed his fingers down her cheek then pushed the hair back behind her ear. It was then that he saw a tiny birthmark just behind her ear. It was shaped like a small heart.

He got back to his feet and looked down at her, undecided. He needed to show her the importance of listening to him. There may come a time in their future where her immediate obedience to his orders could save her life. He would do his best to ensure such a thing never happened to Maria, that her life would never be at risk. Nic was a planner. He didn't leave things up to fate, but influenced and bent things to his will. This type of vigilance is what kept Nic alive and thriving for the past forty years.

He turned from the bed, deciding to leave Maria to get one more night of sleep. As he was about to leave the room, he stopped. Leaving her there felt wrong. She should be with him, in his bed, where he could keep an eye on her.

He leaned over the bed and scooped her up easily in his arms. Her limbs flopped a little, but she didn't wake up. He shifted her until she rolled against his chest and then he strode back down the hall with her, toward his room. He held her carefully as he opened the door and carried her inside.

She would be in for a surprise when she woke up in the morning. If he could leave her alone for that long. He was beginning to suspect, as her lush curves pressed against him, that there was no way he could wait until morning to find out what it felt like to be inside Maria.

He lay her gently on the bed and watched as she stretched, then rolled onto her side, going into her strange pretzel position again. He was starting to realize that this woman could sleep through a riot, and she was really good at it. After releasing her, he went about his evening routine, brushing his teeth, stretching out muscles that grew stiff from hours in front of his computer, and then doing a few dozen pushups and sit-ups to keep limber. Then he stood and pulled his sweatpants down, leaving him naked as he climbed into the bed beside the still sleeping Maria.

He tucked her hair back behind her ear and leaned forward to press a kiss to the heart-shaped birthmark. He wanted to do more, to run his hands down her silken body, to finally taste her, but he didn't do any of that. He wanted Maria to get her rest. She was such a vivacious creature. It would be a shame to run her down.

He moved to his side of the bed, stretched his arms behind his head and contemplated what Maria was doing to him. There wasn't a single other person in the world who he cared about enough to make sure they got enough sleep. While he made sure Cassandra was well cared for, he did it out of a sense of duty rather than genuine caring. If he were to be honest, up until he met Maria, he was pretty certain he was a psychopath with sociopathic tendencies. He didn't care about others, felt no moral responsibility except to the few within his inner circle, and he lacked the ability to love or establish meaningful relationships. Even Cassandra feared him sometimes.

The only person who didn't seem to fear him, at least not all the time, was Maria. And strangely, he didn't mind. When he first decided to bring her home, he wasn’t sure what would happen, if his obsession would ease or if it would grow stronger. Now, after only a few conversations, he was beginning to realize it was more than obsession. Maria was changing him, or at least he was changing toward Maria.

Nic didn't feel his usual apathy when he was around Maria. He felt emotion, and it was exhilarating, not something he wanted to let go of. She irritated him, made him angry, made him lustful. With a single glance his way she turned him into a raging hormonal schoolboy. He loved the sensation, and he didn't love anything.

He was rapidly becoming more and more obsessed with Maria. He felt helpless to stop this steep slide into the unknown. But he couldn't bring himself to swiftly and brutally end this obsession by killing the object of it. He couldn't imagine killing the woman lying beside him, breathing deeply and dreaming innocently. It was as though she shifted something inside him. She wasn't changing him completely, he still felt like the same Niccolo DeLuca, only he now had a new purpose in life.

He shut the thoughts down. He wasn't ready to go there yet. Maria despised him and may come to hate him even more over the coming weeks and months as she realized what her new reality was going to look like. If he had to, he would live the rest of his life with this woman, who hated him. But if she could somehow learn to love him, to feel some of the obsession he felt for her, then he would conquer the world and lay it at her feet.

Chapter Nineteen

Maria felt hot and... itchy? No, that wasn't right. Something else. Restless? Yeah, she felt restless. As though her skin was on fire, but not in a painful way, in a breathtaking wildly erotic way. Something brushed her thigh, and she sighed and shifted slightly, giving whatever it was better access. She stretched her arms over her head and snuggled deeper into the bed.

Something feathered against the bare lips of her pussy, sending shivers right through her. Oh god, it'd been so long since she was last touched like that. She spread her legs even more and wiggled into the bedding with a sigh. She must be having a sexy dream. Although it felt real... and incredibly good.

Fingers ran down the outsides of her thighs, digging into the plush skin just a little before returning to her inner thighs and sweeping her again before going back up and lingering on her pussy. With agonizing slowness, the fingers parted her labia and slid through the wet folds of her vagina. She moaned and wiggled again, moving her ass around on the bed.

It wasn't until she felt the incredible wetness of a tongue tracing the inner part of her pussy lips that she realized she wasn't dreaming. Someone was touching her, and there was only one man that had ever touched her this way.

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