Page 147 of Bitter Poetry
Yet here we are.
It’s been a long day, and it’s late, so I shouldn’t be surprised she’s in bed. It’s not like I was expecting her to wait up for me. Only I think if she were awake, if I could see her eyes, it might calm the beast prowling under the surface of my skin. She’s been on my mind all day, and although Leon told me she had seemed fine when Cherry dropped off the stuff, I’ve also worried about her.
Someone assaulted her and tried to rape her less than a week ago.
Christian abducted her this morning, and as she pointed out, she didn’t know it was him at first.
Can you be worried about someone and want to exact revenge on their body at the same time?
I swallow hard.
I guess I do, so there’s my answer.
There are a lot of unknowns and a hell of a lot of risks ahead of us. I can’t keep Carmela cooped up in my apartment forever. And I definitely can’t pretend I care about Helena, even for political gain, over an extended period of time.
Still, Ettore asking me for help in finding her is an opening we can exploit.
Blood is about to be spilled. I’m good with that so long as it’s not Carmela’s. No one gets to hurt her again.
I need sleep. But I’m also restless. I could wake her up—I want to wake her, but that would make me an asshole, wouldn’t it? She looks peaceful. She’s on her period. Probably tired from that and the ordeal.
I continue staring down at her, hoping my mere presence might register and do the work for me.
She doesn’t so much as murmur. I slip back out of the room and use the guest bedroom en suite to shower. My dick is standing to attention, thinking about her being all snuggled up just one room away.
I ignore it. Consider knocking one out because I’m going to be getting into the bed with her, and she doesn’t need this poking her in the ass.
This is about the long game now, about a future where she becomes my wife.
Yeah? How’s that going to work out, with Christian on the sidelines?
“She’s got a prescription for birth control in her bag. I know someone who makes placebos. I’ll get you duds to replace them with, yeah?”
Not exactly on the sidelines. My brother is playing a starring role.
Should I be more pissed he’s gotten so close to her? That he suggested replacing her birth control—that he would think this was a thing?
I’m not pissed. About any of it. And I don’t know what the fuck to make of that, other than it is what it is. There’s not even a hint of recoil or hesitation in my mind. I’m going to replace her birth control, and then I’m going to fuck her. Every time I do, I’ll be thinking about how I might get her pregnant. When she discovers it’s happened, it will be a surprise, but I’m going to take care of her and make sure she never worries ever again.
I dry off and return to my bedroom. We didn’t discuss sleeping arrangements… other than I told her this was my bed, and she was sleeping in it. She didn’t go back to the guest bedroom and sleep there.
That’s her telling me to fuck her, right?
My dick has gone through arousal and into the pain stage of need.
I don’t bother putting anything on. From what I can tell, she’s wearing a T-shirt. That’s already one layer of clothing too many. Drawing the covers back, I slide into the bed behind her. I’m not particularly careful about it, and I’m half hoping she’ll wake up.
Nothing. When she sleeps, she really sleeps.
I slide my hand around her waist, leaving a small gap between our bodies because my dick thumping against her ass will definitely wake her, and now I’m here in bed with her; I find I like this a lot.
She fidgets against me and then settles right down.
I could get used to this.
It’s only now that I notice the T-shirt she’s wearing is far too big—one of mine.
Dark, possessive emotions stir inside me. I lower my nose to her hair and breathe in her scent. My hand is curled around her waist over the material, but it’s impossible to leave it there knowing she got into my bed with my clothing against her skin. Burrowing underneath the fabric, I make contact with the soft skin of her stomach.
