“What’s wrong? Is he okay? Did something happen?”
I tap the screen to pause the rey, then rewind it back ten seconds to watch it <b>again</b>. <b>To </b>savor the change in Caterina’s voice and posture when she got the idea there was something wrong here. How quickly she jumped from bitter sadness to concern over me. The desperation edging her words, her breathlessness, it’s all somewhat gratifying.
I sit back in my chair with <b>a </b>smile, watching the changee over her again. Does she <b>realize </b>she changed so suddenly, or is she still kidding herself into thinking we’re through?
She can run all she wants but can’t pretend she doesn’t care. At least I know I still <b>have </b>that.
Just as I still have my daughter’s <b>loyalty</b>. Am I entirely thrilled she went behind my back to visit Caterina without at least telling me her n? No, but I can forgive her secret visit since I <b>know </b>she’s defending me. While Tatiana loves her best friend, she also wants to be sure Caterina knows the truth–at least, the truth as she knows it. There are still parts of my life she’s unaware <b>of</b><b>, </b>and that’s by design. I’ll never want anything more than to protect her from the ugliness and danger.
Even if she resents me for it. That little joke about her inability <b>to </b>rte to having <b>a </b>dishonest father. It touched a nerve, and I’m still seething more than an hourter after getting home and immediately pulling up the footage recorded by the camera in Caterina’s room. I couldn’t have imagined I’d find my daughter there, but if anything, she did me a favor. She <b>gave </b>me insight into my little bird’s psyche, probably more than she would have offered if I hade straight out and asked.
No, there’s no probably about it. I believed her when she swore she wouldn’t feed Caterina any stories about me. Not my fierce, independent kid. As much as it irritates me, <b>I </b>can’t help but appreciate her loyalty.
I have to know exactly what Caterina’s thinking, feeling, doing. I need to use any tool at my disposal, because she will not make it easy to <b>win </b>her back.
If so, she should
I hope she doesn’t <b>think </b>her stubbornness and a few ignored phone calls will convince me to leave her a know me better than that. It’s the hardest–won victories that are the most satisfying, and I always win. Caterina cannot escape me. She might think she has, but only because I let her believe she could.
Now the clock is ticking. It’s past eleven, and knowing Caterina, she’ll want to go to bed soon. Especially if she ns on going to work in the morning. <b>I </b>settle back at my desk, a drink in hand, my the discarded, <b>and </b>my shirt partly unbuttoned. The house is quiet, painfully so. Incredible how the solitude I <b>valued </b>so highly not that long ago, now <b>leaves </b>a bitter taste in my mouth
All this peace and quiet does is remind me of what I’ve lost, even when I n to get it back. Next time, I’ll be more careful. I won’t give her a reason to run away. If it means honesty, as Roger said earlier, I can make that sacrifice. I can learn to be better, to open up even when I don’t think it matters.
I would tell her that, if only she were here. All the promises I would make, If she asked for the moon, I would happilyply, as long as it ended this constant, painful longing. Now that I’ve had her, it’s the height of cruelty to ask me to live without her. Without her body, her sweetness.
Her goodness. Her <b>warmth </b>and her light.
Her tight pussy gripping me,manding me when I want to be the one doing themanding. I’m a man who prides himself on strength, yet the fact is, she is my weakness. And while I should be working on removing her from my system, I know it would be a waste of time to even try.
Hence my sitting here, sipping my scotch, waiting for her to return to her room. The more I <b>observe</b>, the better my chance of getting inside her head and finding out what it will take to bring her around.
All I can do isugh bitterly at myself before taking another sip from the ss. I can tell myself all I want, that this is nothing more than a means of understanding her better. Deep down inside however, I can’t deny the insatiable need to see her. To watch her undress and indulge myself in the sight of her lush perfection
I sit up at attention when the bedroom door swings open. <b>Finally</b>. Did she have to put her father to bed? Resentment tugs in the
back of my mind, and I grind my mrs<b>, </b>eyes trained on the tablet So he’s been drinking, has he? And she would still rather be with him. It boggles my mind. Was it that bad here? Or is she being the dutiful daughter? Likely, except I’m not about to confort myself with that idea.
She got scared and reacted emotionally, part of that was my fault. She won’te back until I make things right. I’m not going to excuse myself
There she is. The tension running through my body loosens at the sight of her. She softly closes the door and kicks off her shoes before sitting at the foot of the bed as she did earlier with Tatiana. She sighs, then drops her head into her hands, and I have to wonder if she’s thinking about me.
“Do you know you made a mistake?” I whisper, taking in every part of her with my hungry gaze. There’s something defeated about her posture, the way she props her elbows on her knees and exhales slowly, deeply. This is a girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. I only <b>want </b>to take that weight <b>away</b>. Can’t she see that? What do I have to do to prove myself to her? She <b>blows </b>out a long sigh before standing and stretching. I know that look on her face. inly visible, thanks to the high- quality camera recording her. It’s so clear and sharp I can practically see the pores on her face. She’s determined. To do what I haven’t the slightest idea, but I’ll find out. Somehow, I’ll <b>find </b>out what’s going on in that head of hers. She can’t hide from me. When she crosses her arms over herself, taking the hem of her t–shirt in her hands, I barely move. She lifts the shirt overhead, revealing acy bra I’ve unhooked before. I can almost feel it under my fingers as I watch, instantly captivated. My own private show, made even more exciting since she doesn’t know about it.
Nextes her jeans, and when she bends to pick them up off the floor, I’m treated to the sight of her ass. My cock stirs as hunger res to life. It’s always there, simmering, yet there’s no keeping it from bursting into mes now that she’s <b>down </b><b>to </b>a skimpy thong. What I wouldn’t give to touch her right now, to have her in myp. Straddling me or bent over the <b>desk</b>. Yes, I like that better, the idea of her body sprawled across the desk, feet on the <b>floor</b>, legs spread. I would pull that thong off with my teeth <b>before </b>running my tongue between those round, firm cheeks.
She reaches behind her to unsp the bra and free her tits, and now I have no choice but to lower my zipper and free what’s already hard<b>, </b>straining. I could look at her body every day <b>for </b>years, for the rest of my life, and never ge ever quench my thirst.
lof it. Nothing <b>will </b>
I take myself in my hand and <b>stroke </b>slowly while she goes through her dresser for one of those night shirts she likes to wear. I’l rece every single one of them with my <b>own</b>. They suit her better <b>than </b>the hottest piece of lingerie ever could. There’s something absurdly sexy about how she looks with the hem barely skimming the tops of her thighs, with her tits moving gently beneath the cotton. The taut peaks of her nipples brush against the fabric, and I groan at the thought of touching them, thumbing them slowly. Watching her expression as she dissolves in pleasure.
It’s almost enough to make me consider getting in the car and driving there now, breaking in the way Roger did, stealing into her room, and taking her whether she likes it or not.
Deep down inside, I think she’d like it… eventually, anyway. She can’t deny how her body needs <b>mine</b>, no matter what her brain tells her. There’s always going to be a more profound wisdom beneath the surface.
She still looks miserable when she sits on the bed after pulling back the nket. “Regretting your choices, huh?” I murmur, stroking <b>myself </b>faster, staring at her legs and wishing I was there to pry them open. “I bet you wish you had stayed now.”
Or is there something more? If I could only <b>ask </b>and get an answer. She told <b>Tatiana </b>she doesn’t want to block my number, which only gives me hope. I can still get through to her. Remind her <b>that </b>no matter what’s dragging her down, I will do everything in my power to remove it from her life. No matter <b>what </b>it is.
I fucking killed for her. What else must I do to <b>prove </b>what she means to me?
Her handsnd on her thighs the way I wish mine could<b>, </b>and I stroke myself faster when they begin to creep up, almost reaching the hem of her shirt. “That’s right,” I whisper, panting. “Touch yourself. Make yourself feel good. Envision me touching you. Do you wish I was there?”
My heart is ready to burst by the time she lies back, swinging her legs up onto the bed, then parting them. This is precisely why I wanted the camera angled the way it is now, I have a straight <b>shot </b>of her pussy, still covered by <b>a </b>thin piece of fabric, but only until she peels it off and sets it beside her.
T20 BUNUS
Holy shit. Has it really only been two days since I gazed upon this glorious sight? Since I swept my tongue along her seam and reveled in her reaction. Her fingertips brush the <b>insides </b>of her thighs and I moan, using the cum dribbling from the tip of my cock to lube my shaft.
“That’s right, baby,” I grunt, eyes glued to the spot between her legs. “Make yourself feel <b>good</b>. Do it for me, little bird. Come
for me.
She closes her eyes, arching her back at the first contact with her smooth pussy lips. Her mouth falls open and her head to the side when she strokes her pretty, pink clit. She knows just what to do and I watch, stroking faster, grunting with desire.
That could <b>be </b>me. It should be me.
441
Her head rolls from side to side, and she pulls up her shirt with her left hand, exposing her heaving tits. She takes one in her hand, massaging, tweaking the nipple until her teeth sink into her lip. She tries to contain a moan but can’t entirely, and the soft sound makes my balls lift. That sound, the <b>sound </b>of pleasure. That’s all I want to give her.
Her fingers move in a blur over her clit, her touch <b>light</b><b>, </b>and soon her hips jerk rhythmically while her breath quickens. So does mine, my rasps tilling, the air, my heart racing, while I fist my cock faster while careening toward the edge the way she is.
<b>“</b>Come with me,” I grunt, staring at her pussy, tightening my grip the way her cunt would tighten around me if I were inside her now. Goddammit, I want to be inside her. Now, always, forever.
She opens her mouth to moan again, and this time there’s a name to go along with it. “Gianni…”
Fuck. It’s that single word moaning at thest moment before her hips lift, and she goes still, that makes cum spill over my fist and onto myp. I can barely silence my roar of triumph. The release, mixing with the knowledge that it was me she was thinking of, was me she was imagining working her clit until she came.
There’s a wet spot under her ass when she settles back <b>down</b><b>, </b><b>and </b>slowly she withdraws her fingers from her glistening folds.
I’m almost dizzy, spent from the force ofing harder than I have in ages. All that pent–up need rushing out of me all at once. I don’t care that I made a mess of myself. I don’t care about anything but knowing she was thinking of me. Imagining me.
How much longer <b>will </b>she be able to imagine before she breaks down when her body demands the real thing?
1 reach for a tissue while she lies still, catching her breath and staring up at the ceiling. She’s glowing, at peace, and I gaze at her in wonder while shees down from her high. There is nothing in the world as beautiful as my little bird when she’s juste, all flushed and radiant and spent.
“<b>Gianni</b>,” she whispers again–but this time, there’s a catch in her throat A tremble in her voice. I watch in dismay as she throws her forearm across her eyes, <b>and </b>her soft sobs begin. Her body <b>shakes </b>from the force, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“No, no,” I murmur, shaking my head, dismantling from the inside out.
She can’t hear me, of course. I doubt she’d be able to stop herself if she could. She might cry even harder, because I’m the reason for her tears. She rolls onto her side and curls up in a ball, holding a pillow to her mouth to muffle the sound of her
Sanguish.
Anguish, I brought her. This is all because of me. I might not <b>have </b>meant to hurt her, but I did. Deeply. So deep, her body shakes
from the force<b>. </b>
<b>And </b>now I have no choice except to watch, just as I watched here. As much as I want to turn away, I can’t give in to weakness. I owe her this much. I will witness her pain and remember it every time I resent her for leaving Every time I wish I <b>had </b>never set eyes on her, since that would mean essentially freedom from the torment she’s putting me through
“You won’t be crying for long,” I promise, whispering to her shaking image. “I promise you, little bird. soon, you <b>won’t </b>have any reason to cry.”
Her head rolls from side to side, and she pulls up her shirt with her left hand, exposing her heaving tits. She takes one in her hand, massaging, tweaking the nipple until her teeth sink into her lip. She tries to contain a moan but can’t entirely, and the soft sound makes my balls lift. That sound, the <b>sound </b>of pleasure. That’s all I want to give her.
Her fingers move in a blur over her clit, her touch <b>light</b><b>, </b>and soon her hips jerk rhythmically while her breath quickens. So does mine, my rasps tilling, the air, my heart racing, while I fist my cock faster while careening toward the edge the way she is.
<b>“</b>Come with me,” I grunt, staring at her pussy, tightening my grip the way her cunt would tighten around me if I were inside her now. Goddammit, I want to be inside her. Now, always, forever.
She opens her mouth to moan again, and this time there’s a name to go along with it. “Gianni…”
Fuck. It’s that single word moaning at thest moment before her hips lift, and she goes still, that makes cum spill over my fist and onto myp. I can barely silence my roar of triumph. The release, mixing with the knowledge that it was me she was thinking of, was me she was imagining working her clit until she came.
There’s a wet spot under her ass when she settles back <b>down</b><b>, </b><b>and </b>slowly she withdraws her fingers from her glistening folds.
I’m almost dizzy, spent from the force ofing harder than I have in ages. All that pent–up need rushing out of me all at once. I don’t care that I made a mess of myself. I don’t care about anything but knowing she was thinking of me. Imagining me.
How much longer <b>will </b>she be able to imagine before she breaks down when her body demands the real thing?
1 reach for a tissue while she lies still, catching her breath and staring up at the ceiling. She’s glowing, at peace, and I gaze at her in wonder while shees down from her high. There is nothing in the world as beautiful as my little bird when she’s juste, all flushed and radiant and spent.
“<b>Gianni</b>,” she whispers again–but this time, there’s a catch in her throat A tremble in her voice. I watch in dismay as she throws her forearm across her eyes, <b>and </b>her soft sobs begin. Her body <b>shakes </b>from the force, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“No, no,” I murmur, shaking my head, dismantling from the inside out.
She can’t hear me, of course. I doubt she’d be able to stop herself if she could. She might cry even harder, because I’m the reason for her tears. She rolls onto her side and curls up in a ball, holding a pillow to her mouth to muffle the sound of her
Sanguish.
Anguish, I brought her. This is all because of me. I might not <b>have </b>meant to hurt her, but I did. Deeply. So deep, her body shakes
from the force<b>. </b>
<b>And </b>now I have no choice except to watch, just as I watched here. As much as I want to turn away, I can’t give in to weakness. I owe her this much. I will witness her pain and remember it every time I resent her for leaving Every time I wish I <b>had </b>never set eyes on her, since that would mean essentially freedom from the torment she’s putting me through
“You won’t be crying for long,” I promise, whispering to her shaking image. “I promise you, little bird. soon, you <b>won’t </b>have any reason to cry.”