When I dip a finger between my folds, doubt creeps in and dampens my enjoyment, so I return my focus to the sensitive bundle of nerves, but no matter how I touch my clit, I can’t tip myself over the edge.
Frustration surges through me.I pinch my nipple and shudder as my mind replaces my hand with Mario’s.
His threats pour gasoline on the fire in my veins.I flick my nail over my hard nipple and pull my clit hood up with my thumb.
Lightning fizzles along my nerves as I rub directly over my clit.
It’s not enough.I stroke harder.Faster.
His lips tease my temple as he grinds the muzzle of his pistol between my legs.
With a punishing scrape of my nail over my exposed clit, I shatter.
Too late I realize the voice bouncing off the tiles is my own.I clamp my hand over my mouth and struggle to breathe through my nose as steam fills the room.I slide down the wall and sit under the hot spray as mini spasms work through my core.
My euphoria gives way to exhaustion and shame tries to sneak into my heart, but one glance down at my body erases it.
Ever since my first period, being a woman felt like a curse.Soft curves, weak muscles, agonizing pain, everything about my body made me feel trapped and pathetic.
But with my chest flushed, my nipples jutting proudly in the air, my glowing skin, the long lines of my legs and endorphins rushing through my veins, I’m stunning.Glorious.Worthy of being worshipped.
I discovered my passion because of my uncle.I orgasmed for the first time while thinking about my father’s ex-best friend.I came all over my hand while fantasizing about the man who betrayed my family.
Rising on rubbery legs, I turn off my mind and bask in the afterglow of my release as I soap and rinse my body again, touching and exploring myself as though I’ve never seen my own body before.
After turning off the shower and opening the curtain, I turn on the overhead lights and yank the towel off the mirror, uncaring if Mario hid a camera behind the glass or not.
My reflection steals my breath.I watch as water droplets trace my curves.
I know why I hid from myself, but now I wish I had faced my appeal long ago.Maybe if I had looked with my own eyes instead of letting my father’s words infect my heart, I wouldn’t be as trapped as I am now.
After towel drying and slathering lotion over my body, I step into the black lace and marvel at how sensual it looks against my skin.The high waisted bikini cut accentuates my hips while covering a surprising amount skin, but the strappy top lifts and pushes my breasts together, revealing an obscene amount of cleavage.
Mio Dio, I could take the model industry by storm.
With a self-deprecative scoff, I shake my head and grab the fugly nightgown my father expects me to wear off the hanger and slip it over my head.
The black lace shows through the white material.I smirk at my reflection before thoughts of my father’s hungry eyes destroy my mirth.
With growing sobriety, I paint my nails and let them fully dry before hanging my wet towel on the rack.
After loosely plaiting my wet hair into two French braids, I drape a dry towel around my nape, exit the bathroom, and open my closet.I drop the towel and wrap the chunky blue shawl around my shoulders.
As I tidy up the room for my father’s typical goodnight visit, an uncomfortable thought fills my head.
What if Mario isn’t the only one watching me?
My father could have easily planted cameras or listening devices in my room.
Am I falling for a vile ploy?Is Mario encouraging my father’s lust?
As much as I want to refute the idea, I can’t.If my uncle—he’s no longer my uncle, I remind myself—plans to destroy my family in the worst way possible, I can think of nothing better way than to trick me into flaunting the body that looks so much like my mother’s in front of my father.
Chills run down my spine.
Mario’s furious golden orbs fill my memory.The hunger shining from them eases my worry.
He doesn’t seem like the type of man to share.Plus, he specifically called me his future wife.
