Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Clicking her photo, I zoom in. She’s wearing a dress that cuts off just above her knee, showing a tempting glimpse of her thigh. Her cleavage isn’t over the top, but, fuck, there’s enough there to get me thinking.
I imagine walking into that sunny scene, gently taking the violin from her hands, and pulling her into my arms. A groan escapes me as I zoom in on the photo, adjusting the frame so that only Bella is in it: no background, no nature, just her. She isn’t smiling. She’s got a dreamy look on her face like she’s fantasizing about all the masterpieces she could compose.
The base of my dick twitches as I imagine tasting her lips, nearly feeling the thick gorgeousness of her hips and the heat of her skin. I don’t let myself think about how unlikely this is ever to happen.
Even if I wanted a woman, it would be cruel to pick a civilian, somebody unaccustomed to the life. It would involve too much explaining, and what if there’s another war? I don’t think about it right now—just the fantasy.
When I grab my dick, I instantly feel precome leaking from my tip. My stiff rod aches as I stroke up and down, almost sure I can feel her hand pausing at my base, then up, then down.
I envision pulling up her dress and turning her around, bending her over and revealing the thick gorgeousness of her ass. I can see the wetness glimmering on her thighs, her hole quivering with how badly she needs me.
All I can see and feel is Bella bouncing against me, her ass shaking with each thrust. I can hear her moaning in pleasure as I thrust harder and faster, pounding into her deeper and deeper until—
“Ah,” I grunt as a hot stream of come explodes out of my dick. Everything else ceases to exist.
When it’s over, I quickly enter the en suite and clean myself up. I can’t even remember the last time I touched myself like that. My head is rushing like I’m drunk or high. When I go back to bed this time, I turn off my phone. I don’t trust myself not to go onto her page and look for more photos.
This is about Sofia, I remind myself. Not me. It can’t be about me. Nothing can, truthfully, though I’d never say that to anybody because it sounds self-pitying. A Don has to live for the Family, not himself. It’s as simple as that.
What I just did, letting out all that heat and desire, is the first and last time. My life is about control of all things. My life is about keeping my focus fixed like a sniper on the targets that matter.
Even if it’s a messed-up fact, the truth is what I want doesn’t fall into that category.
CHAPTER FOUR
BELLA
Iwake up earlier than usual. Typically, when I work late at the restaurant and don’t have any clients, I let myself sleep for an extra hour. But the prospect of making $450—and maybe securing a long-term, high-value client—has me excitedly leaping out of bed.
Mom finds me in the living room, feverishly polishing every surface. “Are you okay?” she says from her bedroom door, exhausted from her long hours at the library and college.
It took a lot of convincing to get Mom to agree to let me help pay her way through college. That’s probably why she spends every waking second fully dedicated to doing the best job she possibly can.
“I’ve got a new student coming by in a while,” I tell her, scrubbing the coffee table as though my life depended on it.
“An important student, I take it?” Mom’s voice falters as it always does when we discuss work. She doesn’t like to talk about what I’m doing for her except to say thank you, thank you, and thank you again. It’s not like she’s just going to leave me hanging.
“It’s for this man’s little sister. He wants to pay five hundred bucks per lesson. Apparently, she’s a big fan of my channel. I didn’t even know anybody watched it.”
Suddenly, Mom rushes over to me and throws her arms around me, taking me off guard. That doesn’t stop a big smile from spreading across my lips as I hug her tightly against me.
“I knew a day like this would come,” she says. “You’re talented, Bella. You always have been. More than that, you’re dedicated. You’re the hardest worker I know.”
“I had one hell of a role model, remember?”
We savor the moment. Rarely do we get bursts of real hope like this. We’ve spent too long stressing about bills, life, and how things could go wrong. Now, we don’t need to worry. We don’t need to obsess. Perhaps we have a chance.
“What time are they coming?” Mom asks.
“Eleven,” I tell her. “I just need to get everything ready. I want this place to look clean. Presentable, you know?”