His Virgin Stripper

35- Under My Skin

Marcello

An hour after Sienna left the office, I was still sitting behind my desk, trying my best to stay focused on the paperwork stacked in front of me.

The dark-covered contract she had signed sat to the side, a completed transaction, but the stack of supply manifests and reports demanding my signature remained untouched.

I stared at the lines of text printed on the page, the ink crisp and clear under the desk lamp, but none of it was registering.

No matter how hard I tried to force my brain to process the logistics, I couldn't shake her out of my thoughts. She was consuming my head, her presence lingering in the quiet room like a thick fog that wouldn't lift.

I shifted in my leather chair, the friction of my tailored trousers against the seat sounding loud in the silence. I flipped the document, trying to read to the next page, hoping a new set of figures would finally ground me.

The safe house was quiet, the thick walls built to isolate the outside world, yet the silence inside my own mind was deafening.

I run my eyes along the page, commanding my mind to anchor itself in numbers, dates, and shipping routes. I needed the familiar comfort of data to pull me back from the edge of this distraction.

It was useless. The words on the paper blurred, the typed characters dissolving into the vivid, mocking image of her lips so close to mine.

I could still feel the heat of her breath brushing against my skin, the ragged gasps she had swallowed when my thumb pressed into her jaw.

The memory of her mouth, parted and completely helpless under my hand, hit me with the force of a physical blow. My jaw tightened so hard the bone ached.

I had to clench my right hand into a tight, brutal fist against the wood, squeezing my fingers together until my knuckles turned white just to stop myself from going down the corridor, dragging her back into this room, and kissing her until she couldn't breathe.

The restraint was physically agonizing. I had spent my entire life maintaining control over my impulses and being repulsed by physical contact with people, yet a single girl from LA was tearing through my defenses without even trying.

I stood up abruptly. The heavy leather chair scraped violently against the hardwood floor behind me.

"Okay. That's it," I muttered to myself, the gravelly edge in my voice sounding tight and angry in the empty space.

I slammed the document shut with a heavy thud that echoed off the walls. I couldn't sit still for another second. I walked around the table, my boots digging into the rug as I paced, my chest heaving with an agitation I couldn't curb.

A slow, molten throb started low in my gut and rolled outward, turning every inch of my skin hypersensitive and making the air in the air-conditioned office feel thick and stifling.

I reached up to the collar of my dark dress shirt, my fingers working frantically as I unbuttoned three more buttons, pulling the fabric away from my body to catch a draft.

It did nothing to cool the fire tracing its way through my veins.

I needed to clear my head, to remind myself of the walls and the security, to anchor myself back into the reality of my position. I opened the heavy office door, and stepped out into the quiet corridor.

When I reached the split in the hallway, my feet moved on their own, ignoring the logical path. For some reason, I followed the longer route back to my private quarters, a detour that I knew would take me past the door to Sienna's room.

I told myself I was just checking the internal security of the house, verifying that the guards were in place, but it was a lie. I was hunting for a trace of her.

As I approached the heavy wooden door of her room, the ambient quiet of the hallway was broken by a sound that stopped me dead in my tracks.

I heard her laughter.

It wasn't a sob, and it wasn't the terrified, breathless gasp she had given me on the cushions. It was a loud beautiful laugh, bright and completely unburdened, echoing softly through the wood of the door.

The sound cut straight through the heavy armor I wore every single day. I paused, my boot frozen mid-step against the floorboards, as my heart skipped two painful beats in my chest.

The sudden, violent hitch in my ribs made me angry. A Don didn't have a heart that skipped beats for anyone, let alone a girl who belonged to him by force.

I hated myself for my weakness. And hated even more the chaotic whirlwind of emotions I was feeling.

I tore myself away from the door. I rushed down the remaining length of the corridor to my room, my strides long, furious, and erratic. I shoved my way inside my room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind me, desperate to shut the sound of her voice out of my head.

I tore the dark dress shirt off and kicked the trousers away, leaving them in a careless heap on the floor. I didn’t need to look. I went straight to the bathroom and under the water, letting the freezing spray hit my face and scalp.

I needed the cold.

I needed something sharp enough to cut through the heat in my blood before it made me do something stupid.

Instead, the water only worsened it. The slick, wet concrete of the shower stall didn't offer any relief either; it only provided a canvas for my imagination.

The moment my eyelids shut against the icy spray, Sienna's image slammed into my brain with brutal clarity. There she sat on the cushion, the dark contract open before her, her signature carved across the page in sharp strokes.

But my focus locked onto her soaked jeans… the thick, glistening patch pressed flat between her thighs, the fabric darkened and clinging to every contour of her swollen p***y. That damp evidence of what my fingers had done to her made my pulse slam harder.

"f**k," I snarled, the curse ripping out raw and guttural.

The freezing water did nothing to cool the blaze raging through my veins. My c**k surged, thick and rigid, jutting upward as the memory of her scent crashed over me—sharp jasmine tangled with the sticky musk of her dripping cunt.

I leaned one palm heavily against the wet tiled wall, chest heaving while rivulets ran down my back. The ache in my balls throbbed deep and insistent, a constant demand.

Sleep was impossible. She had crawled under my skin and there was only one way to purge the need she’d left behind.

I clenched my teeth, gripping my throbbing shaft and squeezed hard as I accepted the truth: since I couldn’t bury myself inside her yet, I'd just have to take care of it myself.