Page 16 of Make Me Your Hitta

As night fell, the estate transformed into a fortress. I prowled the grounds, restless and cagey. The argument with Xenobia echoed in my head. If she only knew. If she could see the nightmares that plagued me, the constant fear that gripped my heart. I was to blame for what happened. My father burned down their world forme, and I hadn’t been strong enough to hold off his men. I wasn’t strong enough to save Santo or his mother. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw their broken bodies, their blood on my hands… my failure. Whenever the pungent scent of blood hit my nose, I wanted to cry, but I was never able to.

I found myself outside Xenobia’s door, wanting to open it to tell her everything that was going on. But she didn’t need to know. She didn’t need to feel the terror that I felt. She could hate me if she wanted, but I’d never let her feel like she did all those years ago.

“Get your shit together, Cardelo,” I muttered, forcing myself to walk away and head to my base.

I slouched into the security room, the glow of a dozen monitors casting eerie shadows. My eyes were fixated on the central screen, tracking Xenobia’s movements throughout the mansion as her footsteps carried her down the halls. She wore a satin robe and fuzzy slippers. She ended up alone in the library, curled in a massive armchair. Her delicate hand moved almost of its own accord, slipping beneath the thin fabric of her robe to graze the sensitive skin of her nipple. A sigh escaped me, a sound of longing that filled the silence of the room.

“Fuck,” I whispered, unable to look away.

Even on grainy footage, her sensuality shone through. The way she held herself, her chin lifted defiantly, as if throwing upa middle finger at the world. My chest tightened. I imagined it was my fingers, not hers, coaxing pleasure from her petite body. The fantasy sent a thrill down my spine. I leaned in, studying the curve of her neck, the slight furrow between her brows. My fingers itched to smooth it away, to—

“The fuck are you doing, nigga?” I growled at my reflection.

Xenobia was Don Hawthorne’s daughter. He would kill me if he knew all the filthy shit running through my head. But the excuses rang hollow. I couldn’t shake the memory of her fire, how alive she made me feel. It was like waking up after years of sleepwalking. I stared at the screen with a boldness that rebelled against every lesson of restraint I’d ever learned.

Her right hand wandered lower, slipping beneath the elastic of her panties. It awakened a hunger I’d only allowed myself to acknowledge in the darkest corners of my mind. Pleasure coursed through my nerves, sending blood pooling at the tip of my dick. I wanted the line between being her protector and something far more dangerous to blur, to hover over her, to feel her breath hot against my skin.

I leaned forward, watching her mouth move. How badly I wished the security camera had audio. I would’ve killed to hear her sweet whimpers—to hear her moan my fuckin’ name. I wanted to listen to every hitch of her breath and every stifled whimper.

“Fuck, Nobi,” I whispered into the darkness again, my voice barely more than a breath as I studied her fingers moving in slow circles.

The need in me swelled, a tide too powerful to contain. I found myself at the door, locking it before I returned to my private show. A part of me felt like a creep salivating over her—for watching her intimate moments, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away if I tried. She was too intoxicating.

Before I knew it, my erection was exposed, and my hand was sliding up and down my rod. My heart raced, pounding against my chest with the force of my yearning. I didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. The buildup was exquisite, torturous even. Her chin lifted, and her eyes zeroed in on the camera in the corner. For a second, we stared back at each other. Did she know I was watching her? Had she been putting on a show for me? The thought sent a jolt straight to my core.

“Fuck.” I grunted into the darkness, louder this time, my voice laced with an edge of defiance and a plea for more.

She spread her legs wider, and heat radiated from my body. I wanted to reach out, to trace the softness of her jaw, to feel the strength of her thighs locking my head in place as I quenched my thirst with her juices. But instead, my hand remained confined to the base of my dick, imagining my strong hands taking over her body and guiding that wet ass pussy straight to ecstasy.

With each passing moment, the line between us blurred, protector and protected, melding into something far more primal. The space separating us might as well have been non-existent. The palpable electricity of unsaid words and unacknowledged desires bound us together. It was dangerous, forbidden, but in that small room, with threats looming just beyond the walls, danger had already become our constant companion.

The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy with unspoken tension. I bit down on my lip, suppressing a moan that threatened to escape as Xenobia’s fingers continued their dance below the thin fabric of her panties. She arched her back to make sure her exposed breasts were in view, showing me how much she truly wanted me.

“Nobi,” I whispered, my voice laced with the heat of my arousal.

Her fingers didn’t pause in their exploration, but my body jerked with pleasure, seed erupting from the tip of my dick. My chest heaved in and out as I wiped the sweat from my brow. After cleaning myself up, I found myself at the window, staring out into the oppressive darkness. Somewhere out there, my father’s men were making their next move.Two days or less.The thought of them touching and hurting her made my blood boil.

“I swear I won’t let them near you,” I whispered, my breath fogging the glass.

But as the words left my lips, a chill ran down my spine because I knew, deep down, that the real threat wasn’t out there in the night.

It was right here, inside these walls.

It was me.

Xenobia

The gunshots tore through my dreams, jolting me into a waking nightmare. I bolted upright, heart hammering against my ribs. Darkness pressed in, suffocating. I was disoriented as I listened to thepop, pop, popoutside. Where was I? What was happening? Reality quickly crashed over me in sickening waves. I was in my room, in my father’s mansion, and someone was attacking us.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I hissed, fumbling for the lamp. My fingers trembled, knocking it to the floor with a crash that made me flinch with fear.

Fuck the light. I had to see what was going on.

I crawled over to the window, ducking low as I yanked back the heavy curtains wide enough to peep through. The garden below erupted in chaos. Muzzle flashes lit up the night like deadly fireflies. Dark figures darted between shadows, locked in a lethal dance of destruction and survival.

And there, in the thick of it all, was Adonis. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him, eyes stuck like glue. He moved with deadly grace, barking orders to his team even as he returned fire. He was always in control, even when the world was falling apart around him. Part of me wanted to curl up andhide under the bed like a scared little girl. But a more prominent part couldn’t look away. This was my world—it had always been my world, even if I’d been sheltered or too defiant to accept the truth. The violence. The danger. The constant threat hanging over us all.

“Dammit, Donny,” I whispered, pressing my palm against the cool glass. “Please be careful.”

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