Page 83 of Wilt

She’s trouble. Big fucking trouble. Any fool can see that.

I whisper a finger over her soft, swollen mouth.

She’s innocent. Even after fucking her, she has that. Trusting. Fiery. Sweet. Giving. Rose is a revelation I didn’t know I needed and one I’m not sure I should want.

She smells like her and me and sex, a heady combination of softness and strength, and in sleep, she’s utterly open and vulnerable. I trace a finger down her cheek, through the slight dampness of the tear tracks from when she came. Both times. Crying, shaking, biting into me.

She did bite. Hard. I smile—I can feel it. It’s a badge, a mark of Rose. It should piss me off, but it doesn’t. I love it. I want her to be wild, bucking and scratching and screaming and biting when I have her. I want her whimpering and open, giving me everything I want. Shit, I want to spank her and tie her up. I want to drip wax on her sweet skin and tie her up in real rope play. I want her on her knees as my pet. I want her riding me like there’s no tomorrow.

I definitely want to claim her fine ass.

And, God help me, I want her here, like this, curled up and sleeping, all soft and warm and at peace. I want her to fall asleep from sating herself on my cock.

She’s sleeping better than she has been. Since she told me of her dreams that are memories, I’ve watched. This is deep, dreamless, something she needs. I don’t want to move her, but I have to. I’ve work to do.

I slide free and she whimpers, frowning, but settles, and I place the dress shirt I’d been wearing over her. I slip on my boxer briefs and carry her to her room, tucking her under the covers. I lay the shirt over her so it touches her throat over the sheets.

Then I take the slip and go back to my room, where I find my phone.

Fuck. I forgot that I’d set it to record. I sit, heart thumping, and hit replay. It’s all there, every single moment. Me asking her point blank. Her answer. Both of them. Her permission. Telling me what she wants. She makes love instinctively. It’s not a performance; nothing is designed to heighten my pleasure from moves she knows. There are no tricks and things in her arsenal to get me off.

It’s just her. Giving. Looking at me like she wants to eat me. Like she trusts me.

Like she loves me.

It’s all so fucking hot. I stop it and abruptly go to shower, then dress in jeans and a long black tee.

I eye my phone. I pick it up and look at the video waiting to be played, sent, deleted. I could send it to her father. Thatwasmy intention, after all. The final poison dart.

Instead, I save it. No way am I showing this to anyone. I send it to my computer, to where I keep a file on her. All those glorious photos of her are nothing compared to this. This is my crowning glory. I know I’m going to be beating off to those images, this tape, far into the future.

Me. No one else. No one else is ever seeing this.

It’s mine.

Just mine.

I take a breath. I need to get to the issue at hand, get everything I want, deal with the final curveball of Sylvie.

Something catches my eye and I turn on the overhead light.

Her blood is on the linens. Not much, but it’s there, light from our shared juices. Proof positive that I claimed her virginity. This, I can use.

I pull the sheet off the bed and fold it carefully so that the stain, the mark, the proof, is there, on top. I grab a box from my closet and pull the rose-colored tissue paper apart. A little overkill, I suppose, but it fits. It announces so much, more than a note ever could.

Carefully, I place the folded sheet inside, and cover it, pressing the lid in place.

With the box done, I take it downstairs to the front and hit the alarm, turning it off. I summon Tony with the press of a button. He’s not far.

“Ready?” he asks as he eyes the box.

I nod and hand it over. “Yeah. Give it to your most trusted guard. Leave it at his club.”

“The one on the edge of his territory?”

“No, the sex club is a little too on the nose,” I answer. “Drop it at Royale.” His gambling den in neutral territory. Better to keep it safe than sorry.

“Okay.” Tony shifts, a little uncomfortable. “Boss? You know you have our loyalty…”

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