by A. Zavarelli
I reach up and touch his face, and he opens his eyes, staring down at me with an expression I’ve never seen. He looks totally and utterly owned by me right now. I recognize it because I know I feel the same about him. He’s branded himself on me somehow, and I fear that I’ll never be able to cut him out. Even worse, I don’t think I want to.
“You feel so fucking good,” he chokes out. “I’ve wanted to do this from the moment I saw you.”
My heart bangs against my chest, and I nod to indicate I understand. He leans down and kisses me, and I wrap my legs around him, stroking my palms over the length of his back. Together, we start to move. Me arching, and him rocking. It’s slow at first. He’s still trying to make it last. I want to make it last too, but inevitably, as I get closer and closer to the edge and my body squeezes around him, his responds. He starts to roll his hips harder. Faster. My fingertips dig into his back as my head falls deeper into the pillow. His head tips back as he leans up, gritting his teeth.
I shatter around him first, and he rides it out long enough to let me have it before he jerks his cock out of me and pumps his fist over his length. He releases a tormented sound, and jets of his come spray across my stomach.
When he can’t wring any more out of himself, he collapses beside me, chest heaving. I roll my head to the side and watch him as his pulse slows. I never knew a man could be beautiful, but that’s exactly what he is. We’re both hot and sticky, limp from the intensity of our connection. I don’t know what happens next, but I know I don’t want him to leave. Then he looks at me, and I can see the stress is already returning to his body. I’m not certain if he regrets what just happened, or he’s worried this will complicate things.
“I’ll get something to clean you up,” he says.
He drags himself from the bed before pulling up his trousers and disappearing into the bathroom. The faucet runs for a few minutes, and when he comes back, he has a damp cloth he uses to wipe over my belly. It’s an intimate act, but there’s no intimacy in his touch right now. He’s back to efficiency, barely looking at me, and I know I’m going to lose him. I don’t want to, because I’m afraid of the feelings his absence will provoke, so in an act of desperation, I reach for my phone and type out a question to distract him.
What happened to Nino’s birth parents?
He frowns when I show it to him. I’m not sure he’ll even answer it, honestly. He sits down beside me and watches as I cover myself with part of the blanket. His pants are zipped back up, but he didn’t adjust his shirt yet.
“Nino’s mother was young,” he says quietly. “She’s a member of our Society, and with that comes expectations. She wasn’t married to his father when she got pregnant, and it all became too much for her. She went into hiding until she had the baby, and then sent for the father to retrieve him. She didn’t want to be involved in his life.”
My jaw clenches in disbelief. There is so much I could say. I’m hurt on Nino’s behalf. What must he feel like to be told that his mother didn’t want him? It had to leave a wound, because I’m certain at some point, he must have asked.
And his father? I write.
Alessio is quiet, a dark expression on his face, and I can’t quite tell what’s behind it. Anger? Grief? I don’t know, but when I reach up and stroke one of the scars on his chest, he freezes, his hand coming to mine.
“His father is gone too.” He rises abruptly, my hand falling away from him as he glances down at me. “I have some work to do. Goodnight, Natalia.”
His formal goodbye leaves me cold and uncertain as he walks away without a glance back. He doesn’t wait for a response. He doesn’t even look at me again. In my heart, I knew I was right. This doesn’t feel good. It feels pretty fucking terrible, actually.
My eyes sting, and I don’t even know why I’m letting this get to me. I’m sad that he’s gone and that eventually, I’ll have to hurt him if he doesn’t hurt me first. Most of all, I’m sad for Nino.
I don’t know where his father is, but if I had to draw a conclusion from Alessio’s statement, I could only guess that he must be dead.
15
Natalia
When I go down to breakfast, I’m half expecting to find Alessio gone. I’ve convinced myself avoidance will be how he deals with this situation, but it comes as a shock to find he’s there as usual. We greet each other wordlessly, and there isn’t much to talk about at the table today. Nino is tired, but he mentions his excitement about the boat outing planned for next weekend. I focus on him, but I can feel Alessio’s gaze on me. I just can’t return it, because I’m afraid of what I might find there.
Silently, I consider what his plans are today. If he’ll be gone, then maybe I can check his room again. There must be a set of keys around here somewhere, but I have a feeling they’re with Angelina or Manuel, and the likelihood of getting them is nonexistent.
Once Nino is finished with his meal, we retreat from the dining room. Manuel and I usher him to school uneventfully, and when I return, I find that Alessio is, in fact, gone. However, when I make my way up to the third level, his door is still locked. I stand there for several minutes, staring at it in frustration. That lock represents more than just the threat of discovery. It also represents Alessio’s feelings. He has a lock around his heart too, and if I’m naïve enough to believe for a second that what happened between us might change anything, then I deserve to be caught.
With a sigh, I go back to my room and spend the afternoon considering my escape. It has to be done. I can’t stay here in limbo forever, but my choices now are different. I’ll either have to hurt the man I have obviously come to care about or leave loose ends that will probably tie a noose around my neck.
The rest of the day passes slowly. I help Nino with his homework and put him to bed early since he can barely keep his eyes open. Once I’m back in my room, going through my nightly ritual, part of me hopes I’ll open my eyes again to find Alessio standing behind me, but it doesn’t happen. So instead, I crawl into bed and touch myself while I think about him. I come, but it’s not the same. The last thought I have before I drift off is if he’ll be touching himself too.
Something stirs me from my sleep, and I don’t know what it is. Only a feeling. Slowly, I sit upright, recognizing the silhouette of the man standing at the end of my bed. He’s watching me, silent, like the predator he is. That’s the dichotomy of Alessio Scarcello. As lethal as he can be, there’s another side of him. One that seems less nurtured. More innocent, sometimes awkward, and endearing in his own way.
I know what he’s doing here. Before, when I found him standing at the end of my bed, I knew he had probably come to kill me. Tonight, his intentions are of a different nature. I should send him away. After last night, it became clear to me what this is to him. The smartest thing to do would be to protect my heart before I entangle myself any deeper. Still, I can’t. I don’t want to.
Wordlessly, I pull back the covers to welcome him in. He stays there for a moment, lingering on the threshold of uncertainty himself. I slip my fingers beneath the waistband of my shorts and shimmy out of them, and I swear I can hear his heart beating from where I sit. In the end, it appears we are both afflicted by the same condition. He comes to me willingly, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and unzipping his trousers.
Tonight, he doesn’t say a word. He lowers his body over mine, spreading my legs apart and rolling his hard cock against me. His fingers tangle in my hair. His lips meet mine, and we kiss. We kiss like it’s the first time. I get lost in his scent, his warmth, his weight pressing down on me. I dig my fingers into his back, and he kisses his way from my lips down to my breast while his hand settles between us, teasing me with several long strokes before he nudges his cock inside of me. I arch up into him, sucking in a breath as he fills me. I’m still sensitive from the night before, and I can feel every agonizing inch of him.
He tilts my chin, and when I open my eyes to look up at him, I wonder what he sees. What’s going through his mind when
he looks at me? When he kisses me? His lips graze my jaw as his body stays completely still above me. He brushes my hair back with his fingers and rolls his hips slightly, a test. My body has relaxed around him, and now, where there was pressure, there is only pleasure.
I arch my hips up to greet him, and he groans as he thrusts deep. I drag his face back to mine and kiss my way over his jaw, down his neck to where his pulse beats. The very place I foolishly believed I could bleed him dry. Now, I’m worshipping that vitality.
For a moment, I fantasize about what it would be like to confess that sin to him. In my mind’s scenario, he tells me he doesn’t care. He tells me he’ll protect me, and I’m safe with him. I wonder if he can feel it too, in this silent declaration he’s making with every thrust. Every shuddered breath.
I come hard around him, and Alessio isn’t far behind. I’m still convulsing around him when he pulls out, stroking his dick as his head falls back and he milks out his release. His warmth spills across my skin, soaking into me, and I reach down and smear it with my fingers. He watches, eyes flaring with heated possession. His dick is still hard. I think he might push back inside of me, and I want him to, but he doesn’t.
The room goes cold as he drags himself from the bed, picking up his clothes on his way into the bathroom. This time, when he returns, his eyes move over my come-soaked skin. I think he likes what he sees. He likes it too much to clean it up himself. He hands me the cloth instead, fingers brushing against mine. And then, as quietly as he came, he disappears again.
The next week passes in a consistent pattern. Every night, Alessio comes to my room, fucks me, and leaves. Oddly enough, this has become our only interaction. At breakfast, he avoids eye contact and focuses on Nino instead, asking him questions to break up the silence.
Every day, I find myself wondering if I imagined the night before. If I couldn’t still smell him on my sheets, I would think I had. He’s like a switch. Completely shut off during the day, and at night, he comes alive. The intensity between us only gets hotter, and I find that I can hardly lie in stillness waiting for the sound of him entering my bedroom. I’m desperate for more, but he only gives me enough to get my fix, and then he leaves me cold. I’ve turned into an anxious mess. My thoughts are constantly at war, and my heart is battered more than I’d care to admit.
These feelings in me are too big to be contained. Too big for words. I’m afraid at some point he’s going to see it, and then he’s going to remind me who he is. At times, I’m so certain he can’t possibly feel anything when he refuses to even look at me. But at night, when he touches me, I can’t deny the power of our connection. If he didn’t feel anything, why does he kiss me like he can’t live without it? Why does he worship my body, or linger for just a moment longer with every visit? I want to believe there’s something real, something tangible, but at the same time, reality is knocking on the door.
Gwen has been by the house almost every day this week. I don’t know why she feels the sudden need to lurk so often, but it’s obvious her suspicion of me is growing. I’ve noticed the way she looks at me. The way she studies my features with a familiarity that produces a feeling of dread deep in my gut. Sometimes, I think I’m being paranoid, and then there are moments like today when I noticed her holding her phone as if she were taking a photo of Nino. Except, it looked like it was pointed straight at me. Panic ripples through me every time I think about it. I don’t know who Gwen really is, but is it possible she could find out more about me?
As I’m considering it, my door creaks open and then shuts. Alessio finds his way to me in the dim light, already unbuttoning his shirt. He left me waiting for so long, I wasn’t certain he would even come tonight.
I reach over and turn on the lamp, and he freezes, his eyes locking with mine. It surprises me to see vulnerability there, like the darkness was his shield, and I just stripped it away. I don’t know what reason a man like him would have to be vulnerable, but I suspect it has everything to do with keeping his emotions at a baseline.
I reach for my phone and write a note for him. I’m on my period.
His brows furrow, and it seems like this is a complication he never even considered. How couldn’t he have? He’s never once used any kind of protection with me, and even though he hasn’t come inside me, I have to admit I was slightly panicked over that small chance regardless. I assumed he would be too. The fact that he hasn’t considered it leaves me even more confused. Now, he doesn’t look like he knows what to do.
I set the phone back onto the nightstand and pull myself out of bed. When I walk toward him, he looks down at me hesitantly. I reach for his hand, and his arm is stiff, but he allows me to lead him to the chair next to the bed. Before he can sit, I stroke the bulge in his trousers, and his eyes fall shut. He relaxes beneath my touch, and I unzip his pants, tugging his briefs down to reveal his cock. When I slide my palm over his hot skin, his eyes open half-mast, staring into mine.
I point at the chair and then kneel before him, easing my body between his legs, my breath blowing across his cock. A shiver moves over him, and his hand comes to rest in my hair as I suck him into my mouth.
“Christ,” he hisses under his breath.
I peer up at him, noting the way his muscles are already straining. He looks completely out of his mind, and it doesn’t make much sense. I’ve never given a blow job before. I know I can’t possibly be that good at it, but whatever I’m doing appears to be working.
“Natalia.” His grip on my hair tightens. “Oh, fuck.”
I suck him deeper, harder, watching him closely to see what it is that drives him over the edge, but there doesn’t seem to be one particular thing. It’s just … all of it. The pieces are starting to fall together in my mind as I consider the progression of our interactions. At first, he wouldn’t even unzip his pants. Then there was the way he said he wanted to feel me, just once. Those words have stayed with me, floating around my mind like a tumbleweed. Now, there’s this. A man so hot I’m certain he’s had many willing participants who’ve offered before me. The real question on my mind is, why does it seem like he’s never felt this before? And why does it make me so happy to think I could be the first?
I throw myself into it, flicking my tongue against his head, swirling him around my mouth, and dragging my nails over his muscular thighs. He tastes like salt and man. As I bring him closer to the edge of no return, I decide I want to taste all of him. I want to feel his release spilling down my throat, marking me with a part of him. I want the intimacy I crave from him.
“Natalia,” he chokes out again, his forearm straining as he grips the chair with one hand and holds my head with the other.
He’s trying to warn me, but I keep going. I keep going until he releases so violently, he’s shaking beneath me. His cock jerks into my mouth, and I swallow willingly. I swallow until there’s nothing left but the sound of his ragged breaths.
When I finally free his cock from my mouth, I find him staring down at me like I’m the devil incarnate. He wishes he could just stay away. Instead of letting him put a wall between us, I slide up onto his lap, and force him to acknowledge me by grabbing his face. I want him to kiss me, but he doesn’t, so I kiss him. He grunts on impact, his hand coming to rest on my ass in his lap. I can tell how much he doesn’t want to like it, but already, he’s hardening beneath me. I kiss along his jaw, all the way down his neck, sucking the skin between my teeth until it leaves a mark. I don’t know why, only that I want to.
“Natalia,” he murmurs.
I ignore him, desperate for him to stay. Just a little longer. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. I don’t care. I want this. Need this. I know he does, too. So why is he fighting it?
“Natalia.” This time he grabs my hands to still them, trapping them between his. “I have to go.”
I shake my head in protest. He stares back at me in frustration. I lean over and grab the phone, writing out the question that’s been haunting me.
Have you ever been
with another woman?
His eyes darken, and he picks me up without warning, setting me onto my feet. He won’t look me in the eyes as he tucks himself back into his pants, zipping them up and fixing his shirt.
“I have to go,” he says again.
And he does.
16
Alessio
“Alessio?”
“What?” I blink up at Gwen, and she’s staring at me with a tight expression.
“Are you even listening to me?” she huffs.
I want to tell her that I am, but that would be a lie. My head is foggy. I’m tired and unfocused, and this is the last thing I want to be doing right now.
I start going through some of the footage on the computer to provide a distraction while Gwen glares at me. She’s been popping up here incessantly. I don’t know how she can sense something is off, but she always knows. She picks it up like a bloodhound, homing in on it until she’s right on top of it.
“Can this wait for another time?” I ask. “I have work to do.”
“Bullshit.” She crosses her arms and holds her ground.
I toss her a sharp look. I have always regarded Gwen highly, but she forgets that it works both ways. If she ever spoke to me in front of another member of The Society this way, I would be considered weak if I didn’t address it. The hierarchy of IVI dictates as much. Perhaps, I should address it, but sending Gwen into a tailspin right now is the last thing I have the energy for.
“I want Nino to come stay with me for the weekend,” she says.
My jaw sets as I shake my head. “That’s not on the table for this weekend.”
