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God, she’s grown.

Full tits, tight waist, hips curved just right, all slick and glistening like a fucking fantasy. My cock’s rock-hard instantly, aching, and I can’t move. She’s humming, her head tipped back, oblivious, and I’m a sick fuck for standing here, staring.

I should leave but my feet lock, and my hand drops to my dick, stroking slowly through my pants. She shifts, the soap sudsing over her breasts, dripping down her stomach, and I bite my tongue, tasting blood.

Damn, I’ve got no control, no shame. I want to storm in, slam her against the tile and fuck her till she passes out. I want her cunt clenching around me as I fill her up.

I exhale sharply, forcing myself to turn away, stepping back into the shadows before I lose the last thread of self-control I have left.

Her phone thuds onto the bed—I don’t even clock letting go—and I’m out, door banging shut, back in the car.

The engine roars as I peel away with her naked body burned into my brain. One hand tearing at my fly, freeing my thick, leaking cock.

I stroke hard, fast, precum slicking my fist as I picture her spread wide on my bed, her wrists bound with my tie and her legs forced apart, her cunt glistening, pink and swollen.

The things I would do to her should have me locked up.

I’d bury my face between her thighs and drive my tongue deep and vicious, tasting her for the torment she’s put me through. She’d buck against me, her cries breaking loose as slickness coats my chin. Then I’d flip her onto her knees, position her ass up, and slam into her from behind. Her flesh would tremble as she stretched around me. She’d gasp my name and plead for a break, but I’d keep going, denying her any mercy.

How can I be seeing her for the first time in three years and I’m this feral and unraveling? What hold does this woman have on me?

Why do I picture her dropping to her knees and then shoving my cock deep in her mouth? Watching as she gags as I thrust roughly, fucking her throat raw. Reveling in those tears spilling down her cheeks, and her lips swelling red as she chokes around me.

I want her bent over my desk with her skirt hiked up, no panties. I want to slap her ass hard till my handprints bloom as I pound into her. I’d love to see her cunt juice drip down her thighs as she clenches tight around me. I want to unload inside, marking her deep, and ruin her completely.

I want to fuck her in every position I can think of.

I want her spread on my bed. Her wrists tied, her legs forced apart, and my tongue buried in her. I want her screams as I suck her clit, her body jerking wild. I want to flip her over and slam into her from behind again. I want to watch her ass ripple with each brutal thrust. I want my hand circling her throat, squeezing till she’s close to meeting her maker. I want her pulse racing under my fingers, her gasps shifting to moans as I drive her into oblivion.

And like some cruel punishment for the last three years, Sophia’s face flashes before me. A haunting I can’t outrun, born from less than five minutes of reckless judgment.

Her laughter. Then blood.

Guilt tears through me but the darkness is stronger—it always is. Haven’t we suffered enough? Haven’t we both?

I growl, my hand stroking faster, Penelope’s voice ringing in my head: “Harder, Adriano, fuck me harder.” I imagine her pussy spasming as I tighten my hands on her throat. Then she comes, screaming, wrecked, and I’m lost, spilling over the edge with her.

One damn day. That’s all it took.

Now I’m here, my cock in hand, lost in the filth of wanting her.

I should stop. I should feel shame, disgust, something that pulls me back from this edge.

But I don’t.

She’s going to ruin me this time.

And I think I’ll let her. I have nothing left to lose anyways.

Chapter 5

Penelope

I’m still buzzing from snagging this job at Caruso’s, a name that drips prestige like honey off a gold spoon. It’s no ordinary jewelry store—think Bvlgari, but more ruthless, a palace of excess where every gem screams wealth.

The showroom’s a cathedral of decadence: black marble floors veined with gold, walls draped in silk, glass cases cradling diamonds and sapphires so flawless they look alive.

Chandeliers dangle like icicles, casting light that dances over gold cuffs and necklaces. Luxury pieces that cost more than my soul. The air is filled with leather, a scent that clings. This isn’t just mere luxury; it’s power, curated and cold, and I’m elbow-deep in its numbers now.

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