Page 13 of Cruel Lust

Dante: We’ve got shit to discuss. Come home and meet me in the study.

I let out a groan. He’s always been an insufferable, demanding jerk. Nothing has changed since those early days as kids. Our differences were like fire and ice, constantly clashing and never finding common ground. He expected me to jump whenever he called because he was the eldest. And now, it was just another example that made my teeth clench with anger.

Demanding I meet him in the study of the family home—the heart of the Long Island compound my family has owned for generations, surrounded by high, thick stone walls and always guarded, day and night. Over the years, Papa built smaller homes on the property for those of us old enough to be on our own but not old enough to be beyond his grasp.

If I had a dollar for every time he ordered me around.

It’s better to let it go than to remind Dante I’ve got shit going on too. I’m well aware of the challenges we’re facing right now. Maybe more aware than most, since so far, I’m the one who lost someone they once loved like a brother.

I doubt the Vitali had to try hard to steer Frankie to their side. He would’ve been desperate to get that money and clear his debts. They didn’t do it because it was easy, though. They did it because they knew what it would mean for the betrayal to come from him. I feel it in my bones as I stare at the third-floor apartment window.

As far as I know from my intel within the NYPD, nothing has been reported about what she saw that night. Nobody whispering, nothing. Silence. I had a feeling she would play it smart and keep her mouth shut. Not out of self-preservation, either, but because she has no evidence. A girl who makes detective at twenty-four can’t afford to make baseless accusations.

I wasn’t born yesterday. While my family has never exactly colored within the lines of the law, we also know a lot about it. We have to if we want to do business and avoid prison.

As I take in the apartment above, I can imagine her dressed in one of the pajama sets I found today in her dresser. I picture her crawling into bed beneath what appears to be a handmade quilt, all alone in the dark. Wondering if the Big Bad Wolf is going to huff and puff his way back into her life.

Sitting here, one song after another plays soft and low, but I barely hear a note. And while I stare up at the front windows of Emilia’s apartment, I envision her limp, almost lifeless body on my sofa, h er smiling and blushing from across the table, then gazing up at me, all hazy, confused, and flushed after the kiss.

I could go for another one of those.

More than one.

It’s an hour before my resolve breaks. I shouldn’t do this, take this sort of risk, but then I’ve never been good at playing it safe. I cross the street, my nose wrinkling at the stench of rotting leaves and wet garbage. How the fuck can she live here? Things don’t get much better once I’ve stepped into the vestibule, which reeks of mouse shit and piss. If I were her and somebody offered to pay me for my discretion, I would jump at the opportunity—anything to get out of this dump.

My footsteps are quiet as I jog to the third floor, then round the post and walk down the narrow hall. It takes nothing to pick the locks. They’re old and flimsy and definitely not up to the standards of a detective. Does she think she’s invincible? Hell, I know the answer to that already. Only somebody who truly thinks they’re one of the lucky ones would take the kinds of risks she does. I’m amazed she hasn’t made herself a name in my family, come to think of it. It’s shocking we don’t already know about her.

As of this moment, only I do. And I prefer to keep it that way. She belongs only to me.

I pause in the living room, listening hard after passing the narrow kitchen. The bedsprings are creaky. I tested them myself so I would know if she moved. Since the only sound coming from her bedroom is soft snoring, I think I’m in good shape as I tiptoe to her room. She’s the wild obsession I’ve developed over the past couple of days, and I’m a kid who just found his new favorite toy and can’t be convinced to bother with boring things such as chores and homework.

This foolish girl. Thinking she’s safe, that she can go rogue and trick her way into catching my attention, then what? Win the day? Be the heroine who took down Luca Santoro? It would take a hell of a lot more than her. Many have tried.

The bedroom door is open, making it easier for me to watch her sleep. At the first sight of her, my breath catches. This is as close as I’ve been to her since Friday, and the sudden proximity combined with her pure, angelic beauty is almost enough to buckle my knees. She’s right there, mine for the taking. I wouldn’t have to try. I could have her any way I wanted.

When I remember how quickly she melted against me, I doubt she would fight very hard, not once she realizes she’s never had a real man. That no man ever touched, caressed, claimed her the way I would.

Not only is there no evidence of a man anywhere in this apartment, but there’s a lack of male presence on her social media accounts. No vacations with a boyfriend, no cozy pictures in front of a Christmas tree. As far as I can tell, she’s chronically single. Married to her work, if I had to guess.

What a waste.

Need bubbles in my core when Emilia shifts, throwing an arm over her head. It’s almost enough to draw her tits out from under the thin tank top she’s wearing. Her nipples are practically playing peekaboo, flirting with the neckline. I shudder when I imagine drawing them between my lips, flicking and sucking, grazing them with my teeth until she writhes and undulates, begging for more. How I would undo her and make her question everything she ever thought she knew.

The way she almost does to me. I can barely recognize myself as I take one soft, quiet step after another further into the room. I can’t look away as I round the bed, aware of every twitch of the muscles in her face, the way her delicate brows draw together.

What is she dreaming of? Me? Frankie, or what was left of him by the time she stumbled into the room?

I pull open the dresser drawer, and it glides silently. Inside is a pair of lacy panties that caught my eye earlier today. Soft, pale pink, the way I imagine her pussy would look.

I close my eyes, lifting the crotch to my nose, taking deep breaths, and letting the aroma of her pussy carry me away. Even clean, they hold her scent. It makes my heart thud almost painfully against my ribs, and my cock stirs to life in an instant until there’s nothing for me to do but free myself and wrap my fist around my straining, swollen length.

I open my eyes and watch her sleep, fisting my cock, imagining the satisfaction of crawling on top of her and stripping her naked, running my tongue along every inch of her smooth, supple body. I can almost hear her frantic, dirty whispers. Just like that. More. Harder. You’re going to make me come.

She’s going to make me come. I stare at those pointy nipples, entranced by the way every breath leaves them close to showing themselves, teasing me, even when she’s asleep. I’ll make her pay for that too. I’ll make her pay for all of it.

A familiar tingle builds at the base of my spine, and my balls feel heavy, swollen, and ready for release. Faster, faster, my fist is a blur, my strangled breaths coming quicker until I wrap the garment around my throbbing head a second before release sends my seed spilling onto the cotton and lace. Satisfaction overtakes me before the final spurt soaks into the fabric, and I smile to myself as I tuck my already soft dick into my pants. What to do with the soiled panties? Balling them up, I shove them in my pocket as a souvenir, wondering if she’ll miss them.

I know when enough is enough, and I’ve already done plenty tonight. Before I go, I take one last look at her, memorizing the perfect profile, the look of peace and contentment now on her face. Enjoy it while you can, Emilia. I leave the top drawer of her dresser open an inch as a calling card, something for her to find when she wakes up, asking herself whether she’s imagining things.

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