Hotter.
My god, as though she isn’t hot enough.
When I walk to Taggie’s room that night, I’m certain the door will be locked. But no. She insists on torturing me.
As I open the door, a wall of sub-tropical heat meets me. How does her grandmother pay for her bills? Does none of her family know about sweaters? Are they secretly desert lizards?
I strip off my shirt as I approach, because it’s so fucking hot I’m nearly sweating. And that’s before I see her.
My perfect doll. She’s laid out on top of the covers of her bed, on her back, one arm over her stomach and the other at her side. And she’s almost naked. Her breasts are revealed, small and perfectly formed. Little ski-slopes topped by berry-pink nipples.
I was already hard from anticipation, but fuck. Seeing her like this… Her legs are slightly open. Tantalising. Her smooth thighs and shapely calves are bare. And there is a triangle of plain white cotton over her sex.
It taunts me.
That simple pair of knickers say, clearly, that she is not for me. She’s young, and inexperienced, and not the sort of woman meant for a forty-one-year-old mafia boss with grey in his hair and crow’s feet around his eyes if he ever smiled. Which I don’t.
But even knowing that, I’m drawn to her like she’s a siren. I can’t help it.
“Taggie,” I breathe. “Did you do this for me?”
She sighs in her sleep, and I let myself believe it’s her saying, yes.
“You’re unimaginably beautiful like this, bambola.” I should keep quiet if I can’t stay away, but it’s impossible. “Your body is made to be pleasured. I want to touch you and make you feel good more than I want…” I think of the revenge I’ve built my life around for the last two years. My sole aim before I met this woman. It all pales. “Anything.”
There’s space on the side of the bed for me to sit, and I stare at it, pain in my chest. Of course, my cock is aching, desperate to be jerked off harshly. Or to sink into soft, wet, heated flesh… But my heart hurts too. I need her so much, and she’ll never want me in return.
“Taggie, are you awake?” I say, a little louder.
Fuck knows what I’ll do if she stirs. Make up some bullshit about the fire alarm going off because she turned the heating up to the temperature of the molten sun, I guess.
But she doesn’t. She continues to breathe deeply and evenly.
I shuck off my trousers and let them fall to the floor, then ease myself down onto the space it feels like she left for me. An invitation like the unlocked door.
The things a man will do to justify his obsession.
I’m not deluding myself. I know I’m a filthy bastard.
“Don’t wake up, bambola,” I whisper and ghost my fingertips down the outside of her thigh. Her skin is like silk. “I’m too old and dangerous for you.”
This is going to escalate. I knew it would, but I have this crazy feeling in my chest unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It was an egg cracking open inside of me, birthing a dark monster when I first saw her. And since then it has grown, feeding off every time I’ve seen her. And now…
The monster is in full control.
I skim my hand up her front, pausing at her breasts, then further, to lightly rest over her neck where her jugular beats. Faster than I’d have expected for a sleeping girl. She’s such a tiny thing. Like a mouse in my palm, all rapid pulse and soft, breakable, fragile little body.
“It’s okay,” I mouth as I shift down and ease her thighs apart. “I’m going to take such care of… Ohhhh.”
She’s wet.
Her knickers are soaked through. That’s the first thing I see as her legs fall open.
“Such a good girl.” I can’t believe it. “Is all this for me?” It’s not, of course it’s not. But the fantasy is too delicious. I bring my fingertip to the cotton. It’s warm and wet.
I ease the fabric to the side, revealing her pink folds in dark shadow.
My touch is gentle as I slide my fingers over the seam of her sex.
“You’re so delicious, bambola. That means doll in Italian,” I tell her, playing with the fantasy she can hear me and is as turned on by this as I am. “And right now, you’re so like that, aren’t you? My little doll.”
She’s overflowing, like she was getting herself off moments ago, rather than asleep. Perhaps she’s having very sweet dreams. Filthy dreams of her protector and his rampant cock.
“Forgive me. Forgive me, bambola.” I’m hoarse as I plead for her to excuse what I can’t stop myself from doing.
I slide one finger into her folds, and immediately, she yields. Soaking me, sucking me in.
“You’re like touching the sunrise,” I still, in awe, even though my heart races and my cock twitches. I nudge further into her wet cunt, and there it is. That small, hard nub that is the centre of her pleasure. It’s so easy to glide over it, and she pulses as I do it again.
Then again.
This is a step too far. Absolutely depraved.
“I’ve always been able to control myself before. But with you. You’re… You’re different, Taggie. I feel…”
Fuck, can I say this?
She’s asleep. She’ll never know.
“I feel so connected to you.” I rub in gentle but slowly increasing in intensity circles over her clit. “You’re the piece of my life I’ve been missing all this time. I know it’s not really like that. I know that’s a lie I’m telling myself to excuse the inexcusable. But it’s true that I’ve never done this before. I’ve never wanted to. I’ve never even thought of it. You’re so young. You’re not meant for me…” My voice breaks on that last word.
The pain of acknowledging how intensely I feel about this girl, while simultaneously knowing this can never be what I most need, is almost unbearable.
She writhes in her sleep, and I’m so far gone, I don’t stop. I need her to come, even if she’s asleep. Even if she might wake.
“These stolen moments, bambola. You can’t know what this means to me, even though it’s wrong. It feels…” I take one long breath, then another. My finger is soaked up to the second knuckle now.
With firm movements, I stroke her over and over, stimulating her body. I hold my breath, waiting for her to break. Reaching for my cock, I rub the pooled pre-come over the shaft and fist myself. I barely need anything. I’m impossibly worked-up from touching Taggie. It’s only seconds, and I push us over the edge at almost the same time, her core pulsing around my fingers as I spurt over my belly.
I groan.
It’s stunning and yet, without her eyes on me, it’s hollow.
I clean up, and set her thighs together, then stand over my sleeping girl.
“I can’t shake this stupid thought that you were made for me,” I murmur. “Or perhaps, I was made with space inside my heart for you, and all these years it’s been waiting, being empty. I’ve been lonely without you, Taggie. And now I’ve seen you, and it’s clear how perfectly we’d fit together, the pain of not being with you has flared up. It’s revealed like a light revealing a gaping hole I’ve been ignoring.”
