Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 73655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I push to my feet and stretch. My back clicking in all the right places before I sigh and make my way to the living room where I pour a drink and settle at the large grand piano I bought when I moved into this place. It was perfect for this corner of the room with a view of the sparkling city below.
Setting the glass on the stool beside me, I allow my fingers to stroke the keys gently. My mind drifts to Luna in her bedroom, how she would sound if I were to touch her just like this. The smooth skin under my fingertips flourishing with goose bumps and a soft shade of pink. It always happens when I'm near her.
Earlier when I admitted to wanting her, to keeping her as mine, I noticed how her pupils flared. Mario is convinced the girl is falling for me, but I'm so much older than her. I'm a monster compared to her angelic beauty.
Even though she has grown up as a mafia princess, she still comes across as almost innocent. I close my eyes and play. The gentle notes of a contemporary song by Zolita filters through the room. 'Holy' with only the piano certainly sounds different as I go through the lyrics in my mind, while my vision is filled with Luna dancing in the studio.
How I wish she would dance for me.
I breathe deeply, and the scent of apples fills my senses. A small smile twinges on my lips. But I don't acknowledge her yet. Instead, I keep playing until the song hits it's crescendo and I'm lost in the melody.
The moment I hit the last key, silence rings in my ears, and I feel Luna padding closer, until she's inches from me. The heat of her body cocoons my back, but she doesn't touch me. Deep down, I want her to reach out to me. I have found myself focused on hating her, on being angry with her, but right now, all I want is for her to look at me as if I were a good man.
Like she looks at me when I touch her.
"You play beautifully," she remarks from behind me, her voice a whisper as if she's afraid she'll anger me. I don't respond, instead, I reach for my glass and tip it back until I've swallowed every drop. Then, I turn on the bench to face her.
She's dressed in a small pair of cotton shorts and a strap tank top that does nothing to hide her tits and nipples. The small peaks make my cock throb against my slacks. I haven't even changed, not since I walked in. I have shed my shirt, but I'm still in the clothes that smell of death.
"You look pretty in the dark," I tell her easily. "Pour me a drink, little dancer," I order her before handing her my tumbler. Without debate, she takes the glass and heads to the cabinet. I watch how her ass sways when she walks, and how those lithe legs glide through my home.
When she returns, I take the glass and set it behind me on the top of the piano before reaching for her hips. I tug her closer, between my spread legs, and look up at her face. There are small lines across it from the pillow, her hair is a mess of dark strands, and her lips are fat and pouty which has me imagining her wrapping them around my cock.
"Will you ever not hate me?" she asks after a long silence. Her words shock me. Yes, I'm angry, yes, her family are my mortal enemy, but she, she's nothing but an obsession.
I can't stop the smile that curls my lips. "I don't hate you," I admit. It's only in the dark I would ever say this, at least for the first ten years of our lives together. "Like I said earlier, there is a fine line, and I've come to the conclusion that you're detrimental to me."
This has her tipping her head to the side, confusion clear on her pretty face. She is exquisite. In this light, as it shimmers off her perfectly formed cheekbones, and her pouty lips, she reminds me of a porcelain doll.
"Why would I be? It's not like I could kill you." Her choice of words has me chuckling.
I trail my hands up her hips, and then, slowly down her ass until I reach her thighs. Every movement I make has her breath catching. She's only ever seen me angry, only ever experienced me when I wanted to make her cry, but right now, all I want is to see her come apart for me.
I've waited far too long for this. "Will you obey me?" I ask, ignoring her earlier question. I don't want to delve into emotions. It's not the time or the place. My mind is still awash with the images I saw today. I've spent my life working for my father, and I've seen my fair share of death, but something clicked inside me today.