Page 24 of Stolen Vows
Mario Luciano
Noah throws his hands upin the universal gesture of surrender as I glare at him over my shoulder.
“I turned it off the second she stepped out of the bathroom, I swear,” he says.
I snatch the USB drive off the desk but deepen my scowl.
“I recorded but didn’t watch the rest of the night.She’s all yours, boss,” he insists.
I snarl and yank the charging cord out of my laptop and carry it into the master bedroom.After settling on the couch with my back to the wall, I pull up the video of Valentina and fast forward to when she opens the bathroom door.
My cock hardens in a rush as she steps into the room wearing strips of lace.I bite back a groan when she runs her fingers through her hair and glides into the kitchen, showing off her curves so no matter where the camera is in the room, she’s on full display.Her perfect ass in a thong nearly has me disgracing myself in my trousers.
She’s a masterpiece.I long to ravage and worship her.She’ll look so good bouncing on my cock.
As she glides to the bed and pulls back the covers, I bite my thumb to prevent myself from jizzing in my pants
When she refused to wear the lewd items, I assumed she’d reached her limit.For three nights, she went back to wearing the prairie-inspired monstrosities.I thought I’d won our battle of wills, since her act of openly setting my gift on the bedside table seemed to be her declaration of defeat.The only reason I gave Noah permission to monitor her in the evenings again was because she’d reverted to being Pietro’s baby doll.
I slap the spacebar, pausing the video, and lean closer to the screen, certain my eyes are deceiving me.
Lying on her side, twisted as she reaches behind herself to pull the cover over her beautiful body, a tear glistens on the bridge of her nose and sorrow shines from her eyes.
Fury streaks through me.I growl and spear my fingers through my hair, destroying my styling, and press play, expecting theatrical crying.I don’t know what she wants, but I wouldn’t put it past the spoiled princess to put on such a stunning display to get my attention before trying to tug at my heartstrings.
My heart died long ago when my best friend—her father—stabbed me in the back and left me for dead.
Valentina doesn’t devolve into a pretty mess, though.She doesn’t sob, cover her face with her hands, or pull the blanket over her head to capture my attention.
No, she lies in her bed and whispers as tears soak her pillow.She acts as though her eyes aren’t leaking and misery isn’t wafting from her expression, ignoring the agony dripping off the bridge of her nose.After a few minutes, she stops whispering and just stares at the wall before closing her eyes.
With a single swipe of her blanket, she clears away the worst of the wetness and slips one hand under her pillow and the other into her hair.
Nostalgia punches me in the gut.
As an infant, Valentina always slept with her mother’s braid clutched in her fist.It didn’t matter where she fell asleep, she’d wake up screaming if her mother took back her hair, and as she grew into a rambunctious, sweet little girl, she shifted the habit to gripping her own braid.Many times over the years, I found her napping in random places with her hand tangled in her hair.
I vowed to protect the innocent little angel my friend cherished with his whole heart.
And then that friend betrayed me because the spoiled girl told him vicious lies.
I rewind and watch her settle into bed again, searching for signs of deceit, but if it’s an act, she’s perfected it.The loneliness and despair wafting from her seem genuine.
I fast forward, checking the rest of the footage as I lean back and consider the connotations.When she wakes and pulls clothes over top the sexy lingerie, my cock throbs in my trousers and saliva floods my mouth.
My phone chimes with a text.I pull it out of my suit coat and scowl at the messages from Donna, Valentina’s female bodyguard.
The previous texts didn’t chime because they were classified as normal updates, but the latest has an alert tag attached.
Alarm flows through me.
Valentina requested a detour and is currently walking the George Washington Bridge with only the female bodyguard trailing behind.She refused more protection and left her purse in the car.
Her despondency from last night pushes me into motion.I close my laptop and rise as I thumb out instructions on my phone.With urgency in every move, I stalk through the apartment, barely stopping long enough to toss my laptop on the desk and give Noah a terse command before heading toward the door.Noah jumps up and follows close on my heels.
She will not escape me through suicide.
By the time I pull the car out of the parking deck, Donna sends an update.
