Strong-willed, badass and bounded by the chains of an arranged marriage, Isabela Arias dreams of the freedom to live and love as she chooses.
Being sold to the Italian mafia wasn't exactly on Isabela's to do list...
As she's forced to navigate the r...
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Shame.
Shame weighs on my shoulder. Never did I think Isabela would sink onto her knees, asking to suck me off. I didn't know what I was thinking, dropping my guard down, but when my other head is involved — I don't always tend to think rationally. She just looked so damn captivating on her knees, begging to suck my cock — how could I refuse?
To think my dick would've been the first one to go in her pretty, sweet mouth.
Jesus fucking Christ.
My dick twitches.
It's not right for me to fantasize about my boss's fiance like this. Except it wasn't a fantasy, it almost became a reality. Her lips only barely graze my cock, and I nearly creamed all over her face. One thing is for sure, I need to give the driver's seat to the head on my shoulders, not the one between my legs.
We cannot overstep our boundaries again.
It was just a quick lapse of judgment.
Never again.
From now on, I'm going to put Isabela first, and it isn't clever for us to rile Damien with the idea of something going on between us. There wasn't ever supposed to be anything between us, and there still hasn't been. We will start on a blank stake. Forget everything that happened and remain platonic.
Because if it goes any further, it would be impossible to walk away from her.
She deserves the entire world, and I won't ever be able to give her that. Not with all the things I have left to be worried about. I'm not her prince charming-- just a villain crossing the same path. Isabela will be the last thought on my mind, falling to the bottom list of my priorities.
I need to focus on helping her before Isabela.
Heavy footsteps creak as they become louder, reaching closer and closer to the living room. Using the controller, I reduce the sound on the television and rub my chin. My eyes fixate on the wrestler on my screen, getting lost in the color as they blend together when I don't blink for a solid two minutes.
Two legs block my view.
His finger presses against the button on the corner of the television, and the match vanishes. My eyes flicker up. Damien. His stomach topples over his golden belt as he rubs it and plunges into the beanbag chair. Stern lines frame his feature as he spreads his thighs.
"Pour me a drink, Julian," Damien demands, smacking his thigh for emphasis.
Clenching my jaw, I grab a tumbler from the coffee table and fill it mid-way with scotch. Damien snatches the mug, spilling half the drink on Isabela's hot pink carpet. She's not going to like this. Actually, where is she? It's painfully silent in this house.
"She's sleeping," Damien blurts, wiping the dipping alcohol off his chin. "Apparently, her day was excruciatingly long. Tell me the truth, Julian..." The glass pierces my eardrums as he drops the cup on the table. "What were you doing in Isabela's room with the door closed?"
