Scorned Obsession (Scorned Fate)

Bianca emerged from the bathroom dressed in sleep shorts and my old tee. I could see the shadows of her nipples and I wondered what torture I’d consigned myself to for the night. I smelled her arousal earlier and I ached to bury my tongue between her legs.

But having her share my bed was enough. For now.

Bianca is mine. Those words snarled in my head over and over ever since I saw her in the study tonight, surrounded by Rossi soldiers and the blood of my family.

“Your turn.” She smiled shyly.

I jumped up from the bed before I grabbed her and tossed her on top of the sheets again. My control was on a razor-thin line. The vanilla, citrus scent that clung to her skin made me salivate.

I was hard before I even stepped into the shower. I was used to getting shot at and being neck-deep in dicey situations, but Bianca in my bed as my wife? It pushed everything aside.

I grabbed my cock and squeezed. I imagined her in the kitchen rubbing herself to completion. I imagined setting her on the kitchen counter and eating her out. I imagined her on my bed, naked and begging me to fuck her.

My hand slapped against the tile as a few strokes up and down my length had me spurting cum all over my hand. The cold water sluicing over my body did nothing to quell the raging inferno racing through my veins. Bianca and I had passed the point of no return. The image of her face in the throes of coming while rubbing herself all over my cock was forever seared into my brain.

I panted, leaning both hands on the tiles while I waited for the fever to leave my body. A part of me still didn’t want to touch her, but I was lying to myself if I thought Bianca would remain untainted by my touch for long, especially if she slept beside me.

I shut off the water and toweled dry. Then I threw on a shirt and athletic shorts as a barrier from the temptation lying in my bed. I exited the bathroom to the sight of her all curled up like a kitten and I had to stifle a groan. Dammit. A hellish night was in my immediate future. She said no earlier and I respected that. I wasn’t about to be a hypocrite. But one thing was for certain, I was determined for Bianca De Lucci…no…Bianca Rossi…to beg me to fuck her. I had a feeling that once I was buried deep inside her, there was no version of our story where I was letting her go.

Not to another man.

Not to her overprotective family. Admittedly, I went crazy when she said her dad probably had divorce papers drawn up. I threw her on the bed, intending to edge her with my mouth until I extracted a promise from her that divorce was out of the question.

“I think I fell asleep.” Bianca stirred.

“That’s good.” That was good she probably didn’t hear me groaning her name while I jacked off to X-rated images of her.

Her eyes had a hard time staying open. She reached out her hand. I didn’t think she was even aware she did that. But I didn’t waste time as I slipped into bed, thirsty for a connection. She snuggled closer to me and grabbed that hand, cradling it against her cheek.

“We need to talk,” she whispered. “There was something else I wanted to ask you, but I forgot.”

“We can talk later.”

She didn’t respond. Her breathing evened out and I knew she was asleep again. My right hand was still trapped under her cheek. I didn’t want to move and wake her. I enjoyed watching her sleep. A smile touched the corners of my mouth. I was whipped for this girl. Always had been.

These past few days had changed the trajectory of our relationship, but I remembered the exact moment when I realized my affection for Bianca had morphed from fondness and protectiveness into something else.

Four Years Ago

Sandro, 28, Bianca, 19.

Sandro

I got into my car on a Boston side street. Housekeeping wouldn’t find the Russian arms dealer until morning. It was a straightforward kill: Inject him with a paralytic drug undetectable by tox screens, and let him drown in a bathtub. I’d studied his movements for days. I didn’t have to go through any bodyguards. He was on the run anyway because he’d pissed off the Moscow mob and ended up in a fleabag motel.

I sent an image of a very dead Russian to the one who hired me to confirm the kill.

A text immediately came back. “Confirmed.”

The family should get the 600K in their offshore account. Done with my part, I took out the sim card and smashed it along with the phone. I scattered the pieces for several blocks. The people willing to pay those contract prices wanted clean jobs. The work of professionals and not hooligans wanting to play at hit man. Under the radar of law enforcement like the feds, and definitely no publicity. We had a network of local cops in our pockets to bury these incidents in paperwork and solved cases filed under suicide.

I slipped out my other phone to text Tommy, but that was when I saw messages from Bianca.

My mouth twitched and I texted back.

I put the phone on the dash and started driving toward my hotel. Since the job was in Boston, I told Bianca I could meet her for lunch tomorrow. I missed that brat. Away from the watchful eyes of her dad and brothers, she was likely having the time of her life, probably breaking hearts left and right. Five minutes later, her reply came.

That was followed by a string of nonsensical emojis.

My heart rate spiked. I was still in the middle of the Boston grid and found parking. I had a feeling I was going to Cambridge or wherever the fuck Bianca was.

I grabbed the phone and texted.

The bubbles went on for a while and then disappeared. I waited. Five seconds passed. Nothing.

More nonsensical emojis.

I ignored her next notifications and checked her location.

It was at a frat house.

Fuck. Fuck.

She was drunk and some horny frat boy probably had his hands all over her—I shook off that thought as a murderous rage was taking over. I was still in bloodlust, but I’d settle for blistering her reckless ass. I wasn’t a stickler for twenty-one being the drinking age. I was more concerned about how she’d be taken advantage of in her inebriated state. And judging from her text, she was way over her limit of good judgment. It took me fifteen minutes to get to her location. I passed the frat house. The party had already rolled into the streets. A car left a parking spot, and I immediately slid the Taurus into it. I was thankful I brought my work vehicle just in case Bianca had to throw up.

I got out of the vehicle and slammed the door. My head was on a swivel, keeping an eye out for Bianca. I checked my phone. I was right on top of her. I entered the frat house, narrowly missing a guy throwing up on the floor. Despite owning a dance club, the pounding music fueled my agitation. I was getting pissier and pissier.

Christ. Beer pong in one corner. Sleazy dancing in another. People making out in the middle of the floor and on the couches. It was useless to call out Bianca’s name. The more I moved through the house, the more crowded it became. Scenes like these made me thankful I didn’t go to college.

Stale beer and cheap wine assailed my nostrils and there might be the smell of puke and piss in there too.

I ignored the coeds trying to rub against me. My singular goal was to find Bianca.

My gaze drifted to the stairs. She’d obviously gotten over her experience with Warren Winslow, but I had not. What if she was in one of those upstairs bedrooms? What if I found a boy fucking her while she was drunk, or worse, passed out? Fury took the form of red mist in my head. I was halfway up the staircase when I turned my head and saw a couple making out on the couch.

The pink checkered short skirt was a dead giveaway. And I recognized the back of her head. She was in a full-blown make-out session with some punk in a varsity jacket and he had a hand up her skirt. I rushed down the steps and leaped down the last three, and then shouldered my way through the crowd.

I may have shoved people aside.

“Hey, man, watch it.”

More than a few guys tried to get in my way.

But a stare from me had them backing off. I just killed a man tonight, and these guys were lucky I gave them latitude for the stupidity of youth.

I got to the boy who had his hand up Bianca’s skirt. I hauled him off her and threw him aside.

Bianca’s mouth gaped. Her lipstick was smeared and her hair. Fuck. She had fuck-me hair.

The stirring in my groin horrified me.

This was fucked up. This was simply adrenaline.

My reaction to her stunned me speechless.

“Alessandro? What the hell are you doing here?”

She surged up and shoved at me and would have fallen sideways if I hadn’t caught her elbow.

“That’s why,” I gritted, finding my words. “You’re done. And going home.”

“You fucker!” someone shouted behind me.

I shoved Bianca away and spun in time to see the varsity-jacket guy’s fist flying at me. It was no contest. He was drunk and missed me by a mile. I even waited for him to straighten up before jabbing him in the face, breaking his nose, and sending him to the floor.

“Chris!” Bianca shrieked, trying to go to him, but I’d hooked her around the waist and set her behind me again.

“It’s Joey.” The boy glared at her while swiping his bloody nose.

Joey’s friends gathered around him and helped him up.

“Anyone else?” I asked them. “Need I remind you she’s not twenty-one and you’re giving her alcohol?”

“Fuck, man, she doesn’t even know your name. Is she worth it?” one of them asked.

Not waiting for them to come into committee with their next move, I grabbed Bianca’s hand and dragged her out of there before I changed my mind about not killing anyone else tonight. She didn’t have a choice because I was plowing through drunken college kids, deaf to her rants and her attempts to free her wrist from my hold.

“You have no right!”

“That was embarrassing, Sandro.”

“I don’t want to leave!”

Once we were outside, I backed her against the wall and caged her in. “This is what’s gonna happen. I’m taking you back to your apartment. And you’re sleeping off your bad decisions.”

“You’re not the boss of me!”

Images of what I came upon flashed through my head, sending my temper soaring. “You don’t even know the name of the boy who had his hand up your skirt!”

“I was having fun,” she retorted. “Do you know the name of every one-night stand you’ve had?”

“You’re only nineteen, Bianca. Don’t⁠—”

“Don’t spout your holier-than-thou attitude at me. You think I don’t know why you’re in Boston? It certainly wasn’t to meet me for lunch.” Despite the slurring in her words, the condemnation of the hypocrisy of my actions was crystal clear. I had no problem taking a life, but I was bent out of shape with her having sex. But my soul was a black hole. In an eclipse, she was the ring of light around my darkness, and with my selfish reasoning, I wanted her to stay that way.

Innocence and light.

Not innocent anymore, a voice in my head taunted.

“I’m not discussing this.” I grabbed her hand again. “You’re going home. End of. You’re staying in your apartment if I have to park in front of it to make sure you don’t leave.”

We resumed walking.

“You’re a lunatic.” She tried to pull away, but my grip was firm. I unlocked my car and stuffed her into the vehicle.

“I came with a friend,” she yelled when I slammed the door on her.

I slid into the driver’s seat. “Text her.”

“How do you know it’s a her and not a him?”

I didn’t answer her. We were going to devolve into a sniping war and it wasn’t gonna make sense in the end.

The center of my chest heaved like I was going to have the motherfucking end all of heartburns, or quite possibly, I was on the brink of a coronary. The Taurus screeched out of the parking space, narrowly missing another car that had the unfortunate timing of backing into my lane on this narrow street.

I rode my horn and skidded around it.

“I hope no one recognized me as one of your passengers,” Bianca muttered. “I don’t want to be an outcast.”

Welcome to my world, baby.

“Are you going to say something?” she demanded.

I continued to stew. But I was also trying to avoid making sense of how she looked so fuckable. I wanted to be the one with my hand up her skirt. Was she wearing panties? Fuck.

“Sandro, watch out!”

The light had turned red at the intersection.

I hit the brakes. Goddammit! My arm shot out as the momentum threw us forward. A silver Ferrari narrowly missed the front of the Taurus.

“Are you trying to fucking kill us?” Bianca shouted.

“Sorry,” I muttered. I put the car in reverse and patiently waited at the stoplight. I glanced at her. “You okay?”

Her lips trembled. She crossed her arms, hugging her biceps.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Sunlight.”

“Just drive,” she whispered.

When the light turned green, I focused on getting us back to her apartment without wrecking the Taurus. That was unacceptable with Bianca in the car with me. I could be reckless with my life, never with hers. Absolutely never with hers.

Twenty minutes later, we arrived in an upscale apartment building with top-notch security. I knew this because I’d checked it out before she moved in. I shouldn’t have worried because I was sure Cesar wouldn’t have slacked in Bianca’s living arrangements, but I couldn’t help following up with my inspection.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said.

I unbuckled my seat belt, and she did the same with hers. But when I opened my door, she hadn’t budged.

“Bianca?”

“Are we not talking about this?”

“We’re not ready. You’re tipsy.”

“Oh, believe me, all tipsiness disappeared when I saw my life flash in front of me,” she retorted. “What the hell, Sandro?”

She had to remind me again of that scene in the frat house. And I was pissed at myself all over again at my reaction. Her proximity wasn’t helping either. Neither was the darkness in the vehicle.

“You can’t just pull me away from my friends.”

“Friends?” I sneered, getting worked up. “Do you remember his name?”

She hesitated two seconds too long. “Joey.”

I made a derisive sound.

“You have no say in who I kiss, much less who I have sex with. I get you think I’m still a child. You’ll always see me as a child, but I’m a grown woman.”

“You have no idea,” I growled under my breath.

“No idea of what?”

“Never mind,” I said. “Get out.”

I wasn’t expecting what happened next. And in retrospect, I could have put an end to it quickly.

Bianca climbed over to my side and sat on my lap, right over my growing boner.

She gasped. “You’re hard.”

“Get. Off,” I snarled, gripping her shoulders, but I didn’t find it within myself to move her. She felt too good. I could feel the heat of her pussy. Hell, I bet her panties were soaked. I wondered if it was for me. My fingers tightened. I was jealous. Jealous of whatever fucker made her wet.

We stared at each other for a second, maybe two, and then she pressed her lips to mine. I didn’t react, but when she pushed her tongue between my mouth, it was game over. Soft lips seduced me and turned my brain to mush. Lust overpowered logic and razed all restraint to ashes.

I grabbed the back of her head, angled mine and kissed her deeper. She tasted of strawberries and I had the murderous compulsion to erase that boy’s kisses. Bianca whimpered in response and ground down on my cock, making me harder. She continued to rock and I continued to kiss her. One of my hands traveled down her body with the intent to drive my fingers into her soaking cunt. But the flash of headlights from an oncoming vehicle snapped me back to my senses.

Of where we were.

Of what we were doing.

I tore away from the kiss, hoisted her off my lap, and deposited her back into her seat. She’d landed in a tangle of limbs while I shoved out of the vehicle, dragged in air, and pressed my heated body against the car, waiting for the blood to return to my head.

“Get out.” I shut the driver’s door, giving her a few moments to untangle herself. I didn’t need to ask her again. Her door opened and she got out.

She didn’t look at me. She ran toward her apartment building. I didn’t call out her name. I didn’t follow her.

Bianca and I had crossed a line tonight, and we could never go back to what we once were.

Because I wanted nothing more than to fuck Bianca De Lucci and the guilt of it made me sick to my stomach.

When she was safely in her building, I brought up our text thread.

She didn’t respond.

I drove back to my hotel, cleared out my things, and returned to New York. When I arrived, I took a long hot shower as if I could scald my skin and sins enough to absolve me of what I’d done. Not for killing a man, but for wanting to fuck the girl who’d always been like a sister to me.

Bianca was right: I had a fucked-up sense of morality. I should stay away from her.

I got drunk for three days straight. Thankfully, with Bianca in Cambridge, there weren’t many chances of us seeing each other. She started spending her summers abroad with her parents.

Calls and texting between us stopped.

That was when I resorted to stalking.