Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
It was then I was reminded that she was a virgin and I took her far too roughly. Perhaps I should have felt guilt over it. A normal man might have.
I didn’t.
The thought of taking her again and making her hurt had my flaccid cock turn into a fat semi.
I was her husband. She was mine. Nothing more than a lifelike toy for a man to play with.
I could walk out of this room, force her to her knees, order her to open her mouth and drive my cock down her fucking throat. I could drag her by the arm and bend her over the arm of sofa, spit on her other virgin hole and push inside without a care for her enjoyment. I could take her again and again, fucking her raw, twisting her into the most humiliating positions, biting her smooth skin until she was as bruised as my ego was, taking what I needed then pushing her away, leaving her small, stretched hole dripping with my cum.
I could do it if I so desired.
My head turned and I glanced at the closed bathroom door.
Right then, I was mad enough to consider it.
Listen to you.
And just like that, my cock deflated along with my wrath.
“Fuck,” I said as exited the bathroom and walked nude into the master bedroom, tossing the bloody towel aside as I went through my bag, finding a pair of black cotton pajama pants. I didn’t bother with underwear, just slipped them on, replaced the gauze over my wound, retrieved my phone and dialed the number, standing by the window, looking out over my city.
God. She’s just a fucking kid.
Vittoria was just a girl. Sure, legally, you had to consider her an adult, but if I had to be impartial about it, the truth was all I saw was a young, stupid girl who did an idiotically reckless thing and was now cowering somewhere in the suite, terrified for her life.
I wouldn’t go to her. She didn’t deserve comfort and I certainly wouldn’t be the one to provide it.
Actions had consequences. Today was a lesson for my young bride.
Some things couldn’t be undone.
The moment my father answered the phone, he didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Where are you?”
“At the hotel.”
“And Vittoria is with you?”
“Yes.”
Nunzio Scala was not the type to hesitate, and yet, he did right then. “Is she still breathing?”
Nice vote of confidence, pops. “When I left her twenty minutes ago, she was.”
Through the phone, I heard my father let out a long, relieved sigh. “Good. That’s good.”
Was it? I tried not to feel insulted. “You don’t seem too concerned about your baby boy.”
“It was a flesh wound,” was all he responded with.
Yes, it was, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a bitch. “I didn’t call to talk about this. How’s Ella? Are the boys doing alright?”
“I loaded the boys up on sugar, let them stay up late watching a movie. They crashed out about an hour ago. I didn’t have the heart to wake them so I covered them with a blanket and left them on the living room floor.”
“Good.” At least that was one thing off of my mind. However, I loathed to ask, “And Ella?”
“Eh.” I heard shuffling, as if my father was walking away from where he was. I know I guessed correctly when lowered his voice and said, “Well, first she demanded we take her back. She got mad when we didn’t. Then she switched tactics and, sweet as pie, asked whether I could call you. I told her you would call when you could. She stormed off, slammed a few doors and now, she’s not talking to me.”
Ah, yes. I snuffled out a laugh because pops was well versed in the Ella experience.
As soon as I laughed, I felt a sharp sting of pain right in the heart and then, my smile dropped and suddenly, it didn’t seem so funny anymore.
Poor kid. After her mother, she wasn’t the same girl. In her twelve short years, my daughter had experienced more trauma than most grown adults could handle. It wasn’t fair. If I could take it away and put it on myself, I would. Alas, that’s not how the world works.
I know people meant well when they said things like, “Don’t worry. It’ll make her stronger.” And maybe they were right. It did make her stronger, but it shouldn’t have had to.
She was a child. She didn’t need strength. She needed to be protected.
“Is she up?”
My dad scoffed. “What do you think?”
“Put her on.”
“Alright. Let me find her.” It didn’t take long. I heard him knock on a door before saying, “Ella? Your dad’s on the phone, sweetheart.”
Fast footsteps echoed in my ears, a light scuffle over the phone, and I couldn’t help my smile when she demanded angrily, “Papa?”