Page 5 of Forbidden

Lies. We both haven’t been at peace since that night.

I dig deeper, but it is always the same: dark suits, unreadable expressions, and effortless control. I click one. Then another.

Then I stop pretending and I’m just looking.

Because the truth is, I’m remembering.

The way he looked today. The way he’s always looked when I used to steal glances when I was younger before I understood what this feeling was.

Now I do.

And it’s fucking ruinous.

I shift under the covers, heat licking through me, letting my mind wander where it shouldn’t.

I drag a finger over the screen, imagining him here, towering over me, his breath hot against my skin.

I tip my head back against the pillows and shut my eyes too tightly. My body is too wired, too desperate. I sit up and—

The thought of him is forbidden, wrong, yet here I am, lost in the heat of it. Imagining his hands tracing the map of my body, igniting a fire that defies explanation. His mouth, a dangerous playground of kisses, bites, and licks, trapping me between the sharp edge of his teeth.

The man in those pictures, like a wanton danger personified, sends shivers dancing up my arm, pooling low in my belly. It’s that very danger that makes my body ache with a pleasure soacute it borders on pain. I squeeze my eyes shut, summoning his image: those gray, almost green eyes, pulling me under like a siren's call.

My thighs begin to press together. Every nerve ending screams for his touch. I need his hands, his face, his mouth buried between my thighs, tasting my secrets. For now, a pillow will have to suffice. I clutch it, pressing it hard against my core.

As I rub against the soft cotton, soft moans escape my lips, each one a whispered prayer to the phantom of his touch. With each thrust of my hips, I surrender further to the fantasy, until finally, control snaps.

I throw the pillow aside, desperate for unfiltered sensation. Naked and unashamed, I reach down, and my fingers find the swollen bud, already slick with anticipation.

Watch me fuck myself, Adriano. I’m already dripping, aching, and so fucking needy for you. Imagine your fingers between my thighs, dragging through the mess I made thinking of you.

Now taste me. Taste what’s yours.

A tremor of fear dances through me. What would he do if he found me like this, so raw, so exposed? Would he be angry? Disgusted? The age gap yawns between us, a chasm of societal disapproval. And then there's our history. The tragic one that makes this impossible.

But desire, a raging inferno, consumes all doubts, reducing them to ash.

Are you hard for me, Adriano? Are you stroking yourself in the shadows as you watch me fall apart?

My fingers tease slow, lazy circles, slickness coating them as I spread myself wider.

Can you see how fucking wet I am for you? I sink two fingers deep, gasping at the stretch, my walls pulsing around them.

“Adriano,” I moan, the name spilling out, forbidden, delicious. I call it again, louder, rubbing my clit with my thumb while I fuck myself harder. The sheets twist in my fist, anchoring me as my hips buck, my instinct taking over.

In my head, he’s here towering over me, those beautiful gray eyes blazing, lips parted as he watches me finger myself senseless.

“Mmm, fuck, so good,” I whimper, voice breaking. “Please, Adriano…” I don’t even know what I’m begging for—his tongue, his hands, his cock driving into me. I’ve wanted him forever, a crush that faded to embers when I fled to Italy.

But one glimpse of him today lit it all back up, and now I’m burning alive. For that need, the want, the damn craving with a desperation that scares me. This man, who has haunted my thoughts for years, now resurrected in the heat of this moment.

Do you want me to come for you, Adriano? Do you like how I call your name like a prayer, a plea?

My hands move to my breasts, cupping them, teasing the nipples that harden instantly beneath my touch. In my mind, it’s his hands, so rough and demanding, that claim my flesh. He’d put his mouth on each nipple, suckling hard, nipping, licking, until it’s tight and aching. I’m a gasping, writhing mess beneath him.

You’re so damn gorgeous, he’d say, his voice a low growl, eyes dark with possessive hunger. And I’d fall, willingly, gratefully, into the abyss of him.

It’s too much. I thrust my hips, faster, harder, my fingers pumping in and out of me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

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