Page 53 of Covert Desires

Things just…escalated so quickly.

Everything was fine when I woke up this morning. I actually felt good.

I didn’t intend to kneel before her.

But when I saw her come out of the bathroom in that dress, looking like a beautiful Goddess, all fresh and radiant…

My body betrayed me, moving of its own accord. Like a compass finding true north, I gravitated to her feet. And God help me, it felt right.

But the more I think about it, the more my world tilts off its axis.

I let Kiah walk all over me, let her use me as she saw fit. Worse—I begged for it, thanked her for it. The memory of my own voice, pleading, makes bile rise in my throat.

This isn’t me.

I'm Domenico fucking Ricci. The heir. The boss. A monster forged in violence and blood. How many bones have these hands broken? How many lives have I taken to prove my worth?

This doesn’t make sense.

Realmen don't beg. They don't submit. They don't feel this desperate need to surrender control.

Who in their right mind would ever dare challengemymasculinity?

No, the innkeeper must have done something to me. Bewitched me. Made me want this.

But it felt so fucking good...

Shut up! Shut up!

The same panic from this morning starts to constrict my throat again, but I push it down with force.

Instead, I focus on reigniting the anger—the only emotion that feels comfortable.

This isn’t about what my dick wants.

The fact of the matter remains that Kiahknew. She knew who I was all along but didn’t say shit.Lying cunt!

It was probably her plan all along to emasculate me, to humiliate me.

I’ve been fucking played.

None of it was real.

Like anyone could actually care about you, you idiot.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls me back to the present just as the front door swings open.

Kiah walks in without looking at me.

I make as much noise as possible to get her attention, but she’s on her own mission.

The innkeeper busies herself with cleaning up, restlessly pacing the room as she moves things to a new place only to move them back to where they were before.

Finally, when the bed sheets are clean and the art supplies packed up, she drags one of those shitty wooden chairs over and sits down front to back like a 90s rapper.

She inhales slowly, closing her eyes briefly.

“I think I’ve made a mistake…” she says, leaning down on the chair, her fingers tightening around the wood. “Your brother won’t kill you, right?”

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