Page 18 of The Temptation
She’s not even going to recognise me when I finally get home. I was one of the first faces she saw the morning she was born—eyes barely open, her tiny fingers curling around mine—and then, just like that, I vanished from her life.
When Dante leans down and gently kisses his daughter’s forehead and then turns to place his lips on my sister, soft and full of love, the lump in my throat swells until it’s hard to breathe.
I want that. God, I want that so badly. I want someone to love me like Dante loves Arabella. I crave that kind of steady, all-in, come-home-to-me love that builds a real family.
Something solid.
Something safe.
Something I never had growing up.
After we lost Mamma, everything fell apart. Life was cold under Papa’s rule, and Arabella and I were left to pick up the pieces alone. My sister quickly stepped in to fill our mother’s shoes … shoes far too big for a girl her age, but she did her best under the circumstances. Now she has her own family, and I’m suddenly left on the outside looking in.
That knowledge fractures something deep inside me.
I don’t begrudge her for what she has; I envy her, there’s a difference.
When Caterina finishes her feed, Dante swoops in without missing a beat, gently lifting her from Arabella’sarms. “I’ll burp and change her,Bellezza(Beauty). You talk to your sister.”
“He’s such a good dad,” I say as Arabella moves the phone so I can see her face.
“He is … he’s the best,” she replies, and there’s that soft glow in her eyes again. The one she gets whenever she watches her husband with their daughter. “He even gets up to help with the night feeds.”
“He’s so different from Papa.”
She nods. “They’re not even in the same stratosphere.”
I’ve been holed up in my room for hours reading and counting down the minutes until Romeo finally goes to bed. The second he does, phase one ofOperation Takedownwill begin.
That’s what I’ve decided to call this mission, because make no mistake, itisa mission. I’m going to obliterate those damn walls he’s built around himself to keep me out, even if I have to tear them down one stubborn brick at a time.
When I finally hear his heavy footsteps pass by and his bedroom door close, my eyes move to the rose-shaped vibrator sitting on the bedside table. I’ve affectionately nicknamed her Big-O … because damn, the orgasms she gives me are out of this world.
The first time I used her, I honestly thought I was going to pass out from the intensity it brought on. I purchased it on one of my shopping expeditions with my sister a few months ago, because I was desperate to see if a real-life orgasm lived up to the ones in my books.
It’s a clitoral stimulator, and the lady in the adult store told me it was designed to mimic oral sex. Although that’s not something I’ve ever experienced firsthand, if Romeo’smouth can give me the kind of euphoria Big-O does, I can see myself spending the rest of my life on my back with his handsome face buried between my legs.
Arabella wouldn’t let me buy anything that penetrated. She thought it was vital for me to keep my hymen intact until I marry. I went along with it at the time, but I already know—one thousand percent—that I’ll hand my virtue over to Romeo on a silver platter if he wants it, no questions asked.
Big-O is silent, discreet, and, best of all, waterproof. I sometimes take her to the shower when I’m seeking a release, but living under the same roof as Romeo means she’s gotten more of a workout than she has the entire time I’ve owned her.
I have managed to become a quiet achiever when pleasuring myself—I had no choice since I was living with my sister and her husband—but tonight I’m going to put on a show and scream the damn house down. If this doesn’t crack him, I don’t know what will. At the very least, this man will fall asleep with the erotic sounds of my moans echoing in his mind.
After placing my book down, I slide my thumbs into the waistband of my underwear and shimmy them over my hips. Once I’ve given Romeo a moment to undress and get into bed, I reach for the rose-shaped silicone vibrator.
I lie here for a moment and conjure up the latest memory of him standing beside his bed in nothing but his boxer shorts, and once that visual is locked in my head, I turn Big-O on.
I start at the lowest setting because I intend to drag this one out as long as possible. I’m aiming for ultimate torture.
I can’t help but snicker the moment my over-the-top moans kick in. Now and then, I pause, ears perked for anysign of a reaction, but I get nothing. Not even a peep. So, naturally, I dial up the theatrics.
That seems to do the trick, as a second later, my phone dings. I let it sit, pretending I hadn’t noticed. There’s no way I’m giving him the satisfaction of thinking I was waiting for it.
When the second ding sounds, however, I reach for my phone and grin when I see his name on the screen.
Romeo: What in the hell is going on in there?
Romeo: Lucia! Answer me, dammit.
