Page 41 of Shattered Choices

I lose count of the times he makes me come. All I know is, when I wake up, he’s gone and I can’t walk, but I find comfort in a rose and a note.

I love you.

Salvatore.

eighteen

Isabella

Istayed at home today. I took a long soak in the tub, and not because I had a self-care day, but because I couldn’t fucking move.

My pussy aches. I’m sore in such a good way that when I move, I can still feel him inside me. I can still feel his stubble on my skin. My muscles ache, but I’m blissfully zoned out from this world, and I couldn’t care less.

For the first time since I came back, I took a day off and spent it dreaming about Salvatore. Every time I smile at the memory, a voice in my head reminds me about all the things that happened and why I hate him.

I shut down that voice by questioning myself. Do I really hate him? Or is that an illusion? I shift in my bed and open my eyes, failing to fall asleep. I look at the clock on the nightstand and realize Salvatore will be here soon. Well, he will be if he sticks to the schedule he’s kept for the last week. Maybe when I see him, I will have my answer. But can we really make things work out?

The door to my room opens, and I watch as Salvatore enters. His stubble is still there, and I shudder at the thought of how it feels on my skin. The black jeans fit perfectly, and that black shirt fits like a second skin around his muscles. His curls look perfectly messy, and all I want is to pull on them as he eats my pussy.

He has a rose with him.

He halts just a few steps from the door. “You’re not asleep?” He smirks.

“How do you get inside the house?” I ask the million-dollar question.

He chuckles. “I bet you want to know that. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you.”

I raise myself into a sitting position. “Why is that?”

“If I tell you, that would put my way to you in danger.”

I shift in my place. “Fair enough.” I watch him as he approaches my bed. “So, now that I’m not sleeping, what are you going to do?”

He raises his eyebrows. A devilish smile appears on his face. “Whatever you want me to.”

I chuckle and bite on my lower lip. “I’m sore.”

“I could kiss it better.”

“Yes, you could.” I pull the cover from my body, exposing my lace nightgown. “But first... strip, and I want a show.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “A show?”

“Yes, a show, and make it worth it.”

He laughs, and before he starts, he throws the rose my way, and it falls on the bed. I take it and inhale the smell, my eyes never leaving his. I watch as he slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt; he lets it fall slowly from his body before he catches it and throws it to me.

This one, I catch.

Next comes the undershirt. In one move, he pulls it over his head before it lands on the floor. He toes off his shoes before he unbuckles his belt and pulls it from his jeans. He throws it on the floor near the bed and unzips his jeans. I watch as he slides them off until all that’s left is his boxer shorts and a boner.

I wait for him to take them off, but he just stands there, staring at me. “Keep going.”

He smirks and hooks his thumbs in his boxers, pulling them down, his cock saluting me.

I pull myself toward the foot of the bed, my eyes meeting his. “Now, get on your knees and crawl to me.”

His smirk disappears and mine appears as we get into a staring competition. My eyes challenge him to see how far he’s going to go, his question my sanity. How far is he ready to go for my forgiveness?

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