Chapter 17 - 3

A mix of anger and elation overwhelms me. On trembling legs, I rise and cross the space between us, until I’m standing at his wide-spread knees. My mouth grows dry. My skin feels clammy. Everything in me brims with barely restrained energy.

“Liar,” I whisper. There’s no need to elaborate further because I see it in his eyes—he knows what I mean.

“Guilty as charged.”

His words ring in my head. I grit my teeth. And then, I slap him across his face. A small retaliation for the hurt he caused me. For making me believe he had no feelings for me.

Massimo doesn’t even blink. He keeps stroking his cock, slowly, and without making a sound. His body seems unnaturally tense. A sheen of perspiration glistens on his chest. Is this how a man looks when he pleasures himself? His face is half-hidden in the darkness, though I can clearly see the hard line of his clenched jaw.

That expression doesn’t suggest he’s enjoying himself. He looks like he’s… in pain.

“You said you’d fuck your way through a whorehouse when you got released,” I bite out. I hated that awful letter, and my voice nearly breaks as I push out the words. But I need to know—is this simply the reaction of a man who hasn’t had sex in years? Or something else completely? Of every male in the universe I might have thought could be turned on by me, Massimo would have been the last.

“Mm-hmm. Drove straight there.” His nostrils flare. “And couldn’t get my dick up for anyone.”

I look down at his lap. He pulls his hand away, revealing the outline of his hard-on, tenting the fabric of his pants.

I can’t seem to look away. The anger I’ve been feeling evaporates, replaced with an onslaught of different feelings hitting me right in the chest. Satisfaction from knowing that it’s me who has caused him to be so turned-on. Excitement mixed with bone-shattering nervousness that leaves my mind utterly blank. My fingers are itching to touch him, to assure myself that this is real and not just a product of my imagination, except I don’t dare. I’m afraid this is all but a dream, and I don’t want to wake up if it is. Because this is Massimo. The only man who has ever made me feel this way. The only one who ever will.

“You have nothing to say?” he growls. “Do you think me vile? A sick fuck who came into his stepsister’s room to jerk off?”

My hand is shaking as I hesitantly reach out and lightly stroke his bulge. A guttural, pain-filled moan emits from Massimo’s throat. And I whimper. Shaken by both the sound and the power I feel under my palm.

“Why couldn’t you… get hard?” I give his cock another gentle brush over his sweatpants. “Tiziano always boasts about having the most beautiful girls in Boston.”

“Because none of those women were you, Zahara.” His reply is groaned through his teeth.

A swarm of butterflies takes flight inside my stomach as I let every syllable of his growled reply sink in. For years, I’ve fantasized about him saying things like that to me. In each of those dreamed-up situations, I imagined him softly whispering those words in my ear. I thought I would prefer him to speak like that. I was wrong. This. His growled response, which shows his internal battle—a battle he’s obviously losing—is what I needed. A throb, unlike any I’ve felt, seizes my core, and I feel myself get wetter.

I watch him, this complicated man who turned my life upside down. As a young girl, I wrote to him, hoping he’d step into my big brother’s shoes. I wanted a confidant, a protector. Someone who’d tell me that everything would be alright. Regardless of how tough life got, I wanted him to paint a rosy picture.

He gave me none of those things.

He gave me everything I never knew I needed.

Purpose. Self-confidence. A sense of self-worth.

Without meaning to, he turned me into the person I am today. Strong. Resilient. Capable. The kind of woman I always wanted to be. And that woman isn’t scared anymore. She’s willing to go after what she wants. Him . Even when it’s scaring the shit out of her.

With my whole body vibrating with need, I slowly sink to my knees on the carpet, right there between his legs.

Massimo’s frantic eyes follow my every movement. The tension in his upper body seems to pull tighter. Even in this low light, the pulse point on his neck draws my attention as a slight shiver makes its way through him.

My fingers are trembling as I grab ahold of the elastic of his sweats and carefully pull it down. Massimo’s cock springs free, enormous and ramrod-straight. So engorged, it looks almost purple. My hand shakes as I wrap my fingers around his tip and start stroking along his length.

Steel, encased in velvet.

“Zahara.” Massimo’s deep, rumbling growl breaks the silence. His head is bent, and he’s gripping both armrests with wood-splitting force. “No.”

“Why not?” I wet my lips. “I don’t see you as a brother, Massimo. Haven’t you realized that by now?”

His hand shoots out, fisting the hair at my nape. Fire rages inside his dark, smoldering eyes. They blaze through me, igniting my desire. Setting off an inferno neither one of us could escape. “Don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s the truth.” I lean forward and press my tongue to the head of his cock.

A violent shudder overtakes Massimo’s body, jolting him as if he was struck by lightning. An intense gratification blooms inside me at the sense of victory I feel. I did that. Me. I may not be experienced, and I’m still feeling nervous that I might do something wrong, yet seeing his reaction to that one single touch, gives me the courage to continue.

I lick him from base to tip, just like I’ve seen in videos, enjoying the way he responds. Shallow, fast breaths as he nearly bows out of the seat. Tremors rack him while I circle the swollen head with my tongue, building up the tempo, then lick away the drops of salty pre-cum at the slit. Another proof that all his claims of not being attracted to me were nothing but lies. Why was he fighting this pull between us? How would something that feels so good be labeled as something bad? I lick his cock again, relishing having him come undone under my touch. I want more. I want the taste of him to be branded on my tongue, the same way he imprinted himself on my soul.

The tightness and ache between my legs is spiking. I’ve never felt this kind of overwhelming need as I do now. My panties are completely drenched. Is it the flavor of him, or the fact that I am finally experiencing what I yearned for so long? Getting to know him on a carnal level, having our bodies so in tune with each other.

The silky texture of his stone-hard length scorches my palm as I slide my hand down and gently cradle his balls. When I move closer and seal my lips around his tip, his dick twitches so fiercely that it almost slips out of my mouth. Slowly, I take more of him down my throat while letting my teeth lightly graze his sensitive flesh.

“ Madonna Santa ,” Massimo groans, tightening his hold on my hair.

Every muscle in his body is taut, so much so that he remains rigid like a fine marble statue. I let my lips languidly glide up his cock. Feasting on it. He is mine. Massimo Spada is finally mine. My heart nearly bursts from that though. I move my mouth to the tip of his cock and suck it, hollowing out my cheeks.

Massimo convulses, and a guttural roar fills the room. Warmth explodes down my throat as he comes in my mouth. I swallow every last drop of his cum. It’s a testament. Unequivocal proof. The truth he’s been hiding from me behind the facade of rejection.

Evidence of his feelings. For me. And not the sisterly kind.

Still feeling a bit anxious, I get to my feet and stand between his splayed knees. His chest is rising and falling at a galloping rate, while his fingers continue to clutch my hair.

“Massimo?” I caress the side of his tightly clenched jaw with my knuckles.

A low and deep rumble, like a lion’s growl, emanates from his throat. The shadows on his bare chest shift when he stands up. His hold on my hair intensifies while he towers over me, staring down at me like a magnificent king of beasts. His other arm snakes around my waist, locking me in a viselike grip and lifting me off the ground. My breath hitches as I marvel at the sensation of being pressed flush against him, and I lose myself in his sultry gaze.

“Are there needles or other sharp shit over there?” he croaks.

I blink, lightheaded and bewildered. “Where?”

He nods toward the antique work desk to the left of us where I’ve spread out the half-cut dress lining.

“Um… no. I don’t think so.”

That seems to satisfy him and he gives me another nod, then deposits me right on top of the silky fabric.

His eyes burn into mine as he trails his palms up my thighs, inch by arduous inch. There’s so much tension there, in his dark, unyielding gaze. His expression is set in hard lines, his stance so solid, it’s like he’s become a mountain, not a man.

“So soft…” Low, mumbled words. “I never dreamed your skin would be this soft. Like feathers.”

Everywhere he touches sizzles as if singed by flame. He doesn’t have a gentleman’s hands. His palms are rough, without any trace of softness. Battered skin which endured so much. Just like his soul. But his caress is so delicate as he trails those coarse palms up my legs until his fingers graze my panties. With the hem of my nightgown bunched around my hips, the black lace is the only barrier between my pussy and his touch.

“I’ve lost sleep on so many nights imagining what you would feel like, angel.” Gently, he pushes my legs open. “And your heavenly scent.”

Should I be embarrassed right now? Does it make me some kind of hussy if I’m not? That instead of closing my legs, Massimo’s words lead me to open them wider. As jittery as I feel over what’s to come, I crave it. Anticipate it with every fiber of my being.

I exhale in short, rapid bursts as he drops to his knees and buries his nose at the apex of my thighs. When he inhales, he sounds like a suffocating man who just got his first breath of air.

“Jasmine. Peace,” he mumbles into my pussy, breathing in deeply again. “And sin.”

Warm breath wafts through the lace of my panties, tingling my sensitive flesh. Want… Need. My legs start shaking. And my hands. I lean back and fall onto the surface of the desk, while Massimo keeps nuzzling my pussy with his face.

“I need…” I pant, grabbing his shoulders and arching my back. I don’t know what I’m asking for. I just know that I need… more. More of him. I want him to know me inside out. I want us joined completely, so there isn’t even a speck of unknown between us. I want to be his in every way.

“I need to feel you… down there,” I pant. “I need it so much that it hurts. Please.”

Rough palms slip under my ass cheeks, pulling my panties down.

“I’ll probably burn in hell for this, Zahara.”

The lace slides down my legs, and then… warm wetness… laving my folds. His tongue.

“Dear God,” I gasp.

My vision blurs, as if the world has vanished. I’m not in my room anymore. Instead, I’m suspended somewhere in midair, trying to remember how to breathe while Massimo feasts on my pussy as if it’s a mouthwatering dessert. He’s swallowing my arousal. Licking away every single drop. It’s as if my most secret imagination came to life. Years of waiting. Hoping. My chest expands as if my heart suddenly became too large for it. My inner walls clench so wildly, I might lose my mind. More. I need more or I’ll completely crack.

“Soaked…” he mumbles as he keeps devouring my pussy. “Do you always get so wet, angel? Can any man just milk your juices like this?”

A light press of his thumb on my clit sends my eyes rolling back into my head. Oh God, he’s added his fingers now, and he is doing the most sinful things with them. Caressing. Tapping. And… dear lord, pinching while he keeps licking my bud. I’m fighting for air, unable to form actual words. Is it possible to die from pleasure?

“Has any man’s touch here felt as good?” Massimo growls into my pussy while the strokes of his tongue turn firmer. More forceful. “I need to know, so I can cut off his filthy, undeserving hands.”

His teeth graze my clit, and then he plunges his tongue into my core. Tremors rack my body, incapacitating me completely. I can’t move. I can’t speak. Can’t even breathe. I’m so far gone already, but then, he closes his mouth around my clit and sucks.

I scream, my voice breaking just like my body, and he… for the love of all that is holy, keeps sucking on me. I’m flying, high above my corporeal form. While back on earth, my body is shaking and shattering, each atom returning to the stars.

Wetness trails down my cheeks as I slowly pull myself together.

“Zahara.” A low, whispered voice, somewhere close by.

I open my eyes and find Massimo leaning over me, his huge hand cupping my face.

“Angel.” A light brush of a finger under my eye. “What’s wrong?”

Wrong? I try to respond but only manage a feeble gasp. How could anything be wrong when it was so, so perfect?

“Did I hurt you? You’re shaking like a leaf.”

“No…” I pant, staring into his eyes. “It… it was the first time.”

The corner of his lips curves up. “First time a man ate your pussy like that?”

“No, my first…” I trail off, then draw a deep breath to finish, “…my first… everything.”

Massimo’s smirk disappears, replaced with confusion that quickly transforms into alarm. Even in near darkness, with only a sliver of moonlight seeping into the room, I can clearly see the color draining from his face. His Adam’s apple moves prominently as he swallows.

Jerking his head, he takes the hem of my nightgown and gently moves it down, covering my still trembling core. Why is he acting so strange all of a sudden? Did I say or do something wrong? Is he upset because I’m inexperienced? I can’t help it if he’s the only man whose touch I’ve ever longed for.

“Massimo?”

“Hush…” He brushes the back of his hand along my chin and slides his arms under me. “Let’s get you to bed.”

My weight seems to present no problem to him. Massimo easily lifts me and carries me without breaking a sweat. Once he lowers me to the bed, he pulls the covers up to my neck and takes a seat on the edge.

“I’m so sorry, Zahara.” His eyes are downcast, staring at the floor. “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“That you’ve never been with a man before.”

“Why does it matter?” I’m still shaking all over and can barely form the words.

“It matters, angel. It matters when a sick, selfish bastard almost took your virginity. A man who’s twice your age. One who should only be your protector. Who never should think of you… the way I do. I never should have put my hands on you. Tainted you like this. It’s sacrilegious.”

“We’re not related by blood. It’s not incest.”

“It doesn’t matter. If anyone ever finds out… Jesus … People will be pointing their fingers at you regardless of consanguinity. In the eyes of the world, I am your family,” he clutches the back of his neck. “Fuck! I almost ruined you!”

I reach out to touch his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have rui—”

“Yes, I would have,” he rasps, sounding defeated. Desperate. “This… us… it can’t happen, Zahara. I’m not going to wreck your life by besmirching you with my lust.”

I stare at his hunched back, fighting the tears that are threatening to burst free. I know him. When Massimo Spada decides something, no force on earth can make him waver.

“It may be best if I stayed somewhere else. I’ll make sure you’re still protected. A full security force will stay here with you. You can turn the house into whatever you want. There’s staff and the means for you to do it. After tomorrow’s meeting, though, I’ll move out.”

My lips quiver. “This is your home. You’d leave it just to get away from me? My presence here is that disturbing?”

Massimo turns around so fast that I flinch. “Don’t you understand? I can’t fucking breathe when I’m not with you, Zahara!” he growls into my face. “My lungs seize up, and I’m left gasping for air. Everything is a motherfucking wasteland, and I’m stuck in the middle of it. Choking. Dying. Day after day. I’ve slept in front of your door just to be close to you. The thought of not having you by my side sends me into a full-blown panic.”

He hits his chest with his fist as if trying to dislodge whatever mass has settled there.

“God, I wish I still had the handcuffs they put on me, just so I could use them to chain you to me. I don’t want to be away from you, and I never want you to leave me. Do you have any idea how sick that is? Can you comprehend how utterly fucking gone I really am?” He cups my face with his palms. “I will not ruin you. The rest of the world can burn in hell, but not you. You’re pure. My angel. And this… we… We can’t happen. Ever.”

I watch as he drags himself away and heads across the room. I’m shocked. Bewildered. Happy and completely devastated at the same time. He feels it, as well. This magnetic pull between us. The yearning. And still, he’s walking away. Just because my father married his mother, and that somehow brands this connection between us with an undeniable stigma.

“Don’t I have any say in this?” I bite out after him.

Massimo halts at the door, grabbing the frame with his hands. “You don’t.”

A sob rips from my chest, the physical pain overwhelming. How dare he crush my heart again! How dare he unilaterally disregard our feelings. And all because it wouldn’t be socially acceptable?

“I’ll pack my shit and leave first thing in the morning,” he continues. “It’ll be easier on both of us.”

I’m so tempted to bury my face in the pillow and bawl my eyes out. Accept the situation like I’ve always done—without a fight. However, I’m not that timid young girl anymore. The one too scared to lift her eyes off the floor. He helped me change her, without ever knowing his impact. I am not dropping my head. I am not letting him walk out of here. I am not allowing him to pull away from me, simply because of this stupid notion that I’ll be made a pariah. I don’t need saving. Not anymore.

“You’re not leaving.”

“Zahara…”

“If you do, I’ll follow you anyway. So let’s just skip the unnecessary packing and unpacking.”

The muscles on his arms tighten as he grips the doorjamb. “My self-control is hanging by a thread, angel.”

“I know. But practicing will do you good. You’ll need your restraint to handle the Council.” I turn around, facing away from him. “See you at breakfast,” I say in the most casual tone I can muster.

A minute passes. I grip the covers in my hand and wait. Another minute.

He’s still here, I know that. I can hear his labored breaths, clear across the length of the room. Is he debating with himself? Why isn’t he saying anything? What if the morning comes, and he leaves anyway?

A low whisper fills the silence of the room. “Is an omelet okay?” My heart skips a beat.

“Sure,” I whisper back.