Chapter 4 - Sinful
“Curiosity is the lust of the mind.” ~ Thomas Hobbes.
After our strange trip to the rose garden, Alessio immediately hung up the phone, telling me that there was something urgent he had to attend to.
That was two hours ago.
Since then, I've been at home waiting for my mother and father to return from the venue, but given the opportunity of a night off from their obligations, I highly doubt they would be coming home anytime soon.
Fingers swirl around the pink suds of my bath water. Lying on my back in the double-ended clawfoot tub, I start to recall today's event and how quickly it all went by.
And no matter what other scenarios I try to think of, I can't help but draw back to what went down in the garden.
How close he was to me, the feeling in my tummy that makes me feel dizzy. Just the thought alone has me flustering in this lukewarm water.
"Don't even think about it," covering my face with both hands.
Popping the drain open, I stand to grab a towel off the nearby rack and step out, drying myself thoroughly before throwing on my white satin robe.
Opening the bathroom door that's connects to my room, I walk over to my vanity to take a seat and pull out a few products from one of the drawers of the desk. Using a water base cleaner first then moving to an oil base, I start to gently rub my face, properly cleansing before applying a moisturizing night cream last. My hands carefully move at a leisurely pace, making sure to get every crevice. Forehead, brow bone, cheeks, jaw — neck.
That's where I pause.
Staring at myself in the mirror with both hands resting at the base of my neck, fingers splaying out.
Mind reeling at the thought of his hands on my skin instead. How Alessio held me with his face at a close proximity.
"Stop," shaking my head, scolding myself aloud.
Why do I keep thinking about him? The images of his touch can be felt even though he's not here.
What's wrong with me? Looking at myself, the color of pink creeping up on my skin.
Brushing off the thought, I finish applying the lotion to my neck, pretending as if he's not still on my mind distracting me. After placing everything back in drawer I move to lock my bedroom door, a habit of mines that brings a sense of security when sleeping.
Next I dim the lights to my room, not entirely ready to sleep just yet.
Tossing myself the face down on the mattress with a small groan, crawling over the sheets, I lay my head against the pillow and reach over to grab the iPhone sitting on the bedside table.
Dialing my mother's phone number, I raise it to my ear only to be immediately sent to voicemail.
Her phone must be dead, I ponder to myself with a frown on my face as I hang up.
Dropping my phone on my stomach, I exhale deeply, twiddling with the knot of my robe, bored as ever in a house too big that still scares me at night when I'm alone.
Staring up at the mesh canopy of the bed, I let my mind drift off, still thinking about today, still thinking about Alessio Romano.
Closing my eyes I replay this evening, focusing on what I've been pushing aside, how his body pressed into me, his fingers that grazed my skin, his lips that hovered so close.
A part of me wants to laugh from how silly this is, but I can't help it.
I can see him, painting a mental image of his face.
The feelings he brought out of me earlier were things I've never felt before. They rose so quickly, making me want to clench my thighs because of the strange things he makes me feel.
It's weird, I don't think I've ever felt this way. Foreign is the sensation that brings heat to my entire body when I'm around him.
Eyes still shut, curiosity getting the best of me. Conjuring up the moment he put his hand on my neck, I recreate the movements by softly touching my own neck.
A giggle comes out, if anyone were to see me now they'd probably think I'm crazy. The other free hand moves to my cheek, envisioning Alessio.
Fingers go over my lips, just like how his breath was gently hitting against them. Back to my neck, my hands roam further down on their own accord.
My body succumbing to an imagination that's running free, promiscuously envisioning him handling me with his rough hands.
I can feel myself getting wet down there, building and leaking out of me slowly.
This is out of character for me — but I keep gliding my hands over myself.
Sliding over my stomach and stopping at the lowest point of my abdomen. Fingers flex, temptation and hesitation clashing violently in my head.
A dormant feeling rising, blossoming like a flower opening up in the springtime.
I never touch myself. The idea makes me weary, a scandalous act that leaves me wondering if I want to continue. Peeling my eyes open, I lift my head and bite my bottom lip in debate if I could do something as provocative as that. Setting the phone aside, I push myself higher onto my pillow and settle down more comfortably. Trying to relax, I spread my legs apart and lift the robe up to my thighs.
Eyelids flutter shut as I begin to imagine Alessio touching me again. Running my hand over my mound, brushing through the hair, reaching lower I touch the fluid that's wet and sticky. Roaming carefully, I start to feel everywhere on the outside of my lower lips until I feel brave enough open my folds and touch a particular spot that makes me jump.
It's sensitive, the little nub that I begin to trace flares my arousal.
I can see him. Imagining his thick long fingers rubbing me the way I am. The thought makes me clench my thighs. Imagining him do things to me does nothing to calm the rise of my chest, how my breath starts to build up.
Feeling the warmest part of me brings a blush to my entire body that follows with a quiet moan, my first ever.
I never knew it could feel like this, but I'm still doubtful of putting my own fingers inside of me, so I pay complete attention to what I'm doing now already.
Toes curl inwards from the friction that begins to pick up in pace, flexing my hips, rotating until a deep groan spills from my lips.
The loud shrill of a cell phone draws out a gasp from me, skittishly jumping before immediately sitting straight up.
Paranoia consumes me.
Pulling down the ends of the robe, I grab the phone while fumbling in the process and promptly raise it to my ear.
"H-Hello?" stuttering out as I try to gather myself.
However static is what's given back before the call drops.
Knitting my brows, I pull the phone back and look down to check caller ID but there was no name written across the screen.
Unknown number it says.
"Who is this?" saying with a sharp inhale as I cover my face, feeling sheepish all of a sudden.
Tapping the bud of the cigarette against the brick wall I'm leaning on, I let the stick fall from between my fingers and turn my head to see Angelo, Andreas, and Nicholas taking care of business as usual.
In a way it pisses me off, knowing that these fuckheads could've taken care of this themselves. There wasn't a purpose for me to be here yet Andreas wouldn't shut the hell up about needing me to be here just in case.
Irritable is a feeling that surrounds me.
Blood plasters the concrete floor of the dark alleyway. Grunts release from the man whose body blooms with fresh bruises as he scrabbles to stand.
His chest is heaving, reaching out to grab the brick wall for support as he drags himself upwards on shaky legs. "Please!" His cries fall on deaf ears when Angelo grabs the collar of the beggars shirt and throws him to the floor again, head bouncing off the ground with a loud crack.
Fingers move to the pockets of my pants, searching for the small cigarette box that has only one more stick left. Lighting up another cig, I bring it to my lips and crumble up the empty package, throwing it on top the man who now lays deathly still.
"Take out the trash," mumbling to the three that stand emotionless with blood on their shirts. "E non aspettare, vai. È finita con."
Dark heavy clouds encase the moonless sky, seeming as it was about to pour any minute. Taking my time walking to a black Cadillac that sits hiding behind another building, I roughly pull open the door and slide into the driver's seat, slamming it close with such force that the entire structure shakes.
"Shit," cursing as I put out my cig, flicking it into an ashtray that's near the dashboard. My head leans back onto the head rest as my forearms shoot up to my eyes, covering my vision. "Fuck!" Screaming at no one, hitting the center of the steering wheel with my fist, taking out my rage.
I wasn't needed here tonight, my time was wasted, cut short with the Valentino girl for this bullshit that the guys already had under control. I don't understand why they feel the need to piss me off like this, but if I have to remind them not to fuck with my valuable time, then I will. Family or not.
Attempting to bring my fury to a calm, I unclench my fists and run a hand through my loose hair. Releasing a rapture for this particular reason would be a stupid move on end, especially after the announcement of my accession just a few hours ago.
"Patience is key," irritatingly whispering to myself while staring at the empty lot.
Another uneventful night — but not day.
"Cherry." Her name rolls off my tongue with ease. "Jesus fucken Christ." Gripping the steering wheel in a tight hold, I think back to that expression she had on her face earlier, it was without corruption and her answers were without fault.
A predator and his prey.
A little fawn at a lions mercy.
My mind is starting to wonder, curiosity encouraging me to check up on the little doe. Taking out my phone and unlocking it, I swipe until I find what I'm looking for. For many reasons, such as the obligation of taking care of the woman I'll be marrying, I have put a system on both our phones that allows me to connect to her phone so that I'll be able to mirror her activity without her knowing.
For safety precautions, of course.
Looking at the screen I press a button that is able to connect me to the microphone, giving me access to anything that can be heard with it.
Putting it up to my ear, I'm caught of guard with hearing something I never knew I'd hear so sudden — a soft moan.
Fingers almost lose their grip on the phone.
Is she — but is she alone?
I grind down on my molars with the unknown.
Thoughts jumble up and the need to get the answer consumes me. Immediately I exit out of the system and go to my contacts list to dial her phone number that her father gave to me, but as it rings,
the regret in me rises.
The dial stops and so does my breath. "H-Hello," she coyly stumbles over her own words.
Rob of my speech, I quickly hang up and lean my head against the steering wheel with the cell phone still tight in my hold that threatens to break.
The hell did I just do that for?