Broken Beginnings (The Moretti Crime Family 3)

14

Lucca

I wake up oddly hot, like I fell asleep next to a small radiator. Blinking my eyes open, I take in the stained ceiling of the cheap motel room. My brain jump-starts, and all sleep evaded thoughts come rushing back to my mind.

Turning my head, I find Claire curled up next to me. Her small body is swallowed up by the scratchy motel blanket. Her face is only a few inches away from my shoulder. One of her hands is tucked beneath her cheek, while her other hand is flat on my arm. Even in sleep, she is afraid that she might be left alone.

I can’t believe I didn’t wake up when she crawled into the bed. Normally, I’m a very light sleeper. Part of me is glad to have her close—safe and protected.

Asleep, she looks more like the child I know. Her features relaxed, and her pert mouth ajar. Her red hair is unruly, framing her face. There’s a smattering of freckles across her face, but are more prominent around her nose and cheeks. She looks like a little sun-kissed angel.

With a smile on my face, I get up slowly, careful not to wake her. I slip into the bathroom and strip out of my clothes. The pipes creak loudly when I turn on the water, but by the time I step under the spray, it’s warm.

I let the water pound against the tense muscles of my back and wash my hair and body. My hand slips down between my legs, and my cock stiffens. Fuck, it’s been… I can’t even remember the last time I had sex. All I know is it’s been too long if the mere graze of my hand against the thick rod turns me on.

There’s no point in giving myself blue balls. Still, I hesitate… Claire is just on the other side of that door, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the cruel beast just a few feet away. It feels wrong to fuck my hand, but rationally, I know it’s not. I have needs, and all I’m doing is taking care of myself. I’m not exposing her to anything.

Letting my hormones drive my thoughts, I fist my cock in my hand and slide my palm down the thick shaft and back up again, swiping my thumb over the sensitive mushroom-shaped head. A hiss escapes my lips at the primal need that ripples through me. Red fiery hair and soft, innocent green eyes are all I see when I close my eyes. I bare my teeth and lean forward, resting against the shower wall beneath the spray of water.

I cannot, will not, think of the young girl in the other room while I fuck myself with my hand. She isn’t old enough for me to be thinking about her while I do this. Despite it being wrong, I can’t shake the thoughts away, and even though it’s Claire’s image that I see in my mind, I force myself to call her something else.

Samantha.

Pink lips and a smiling face are all I see as she looks up at me with longing in her eyes. So innocent and young. If I ever touched her, even in the slightest, I’d risk tainting her.

I’m not a good man, and the fact that the thought of tainting her turns me on more proves that. My cock has never been harder, and that both terrifies and interests me. She’s too young, too sweet, too fragile for me and this world.

That doesn’t lessen my want.

My grip tightens, and I stroke faster and faster. My breaths come out in shallow puffs, and I know I’m close. A groan lodges in my throat, and I bite my lip until the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

Pleasure builds at the base of my spine, and my toes curl.

“Samantha,” I growl, slamming my fist against the wall. Even though it’s Claire’s name, I want to growl.

A second later, the coil in my belly unravels, and my entire body tightens like a bow. One more hard stroke, where I imagine it’s her tight virginal cunt wrapped around my cock, sends me over the edge. Spurts of sticky hot cum erupt from my cock and paint the wall while I stand there, my heart thundering in my chest. I can’t hear or breathe. All I can do is feel the pleasure course through me, drowning every emotion and thought that isn’t centered on her.

I drift back down from my high slowly, like a feather. The guilt shatters the bubble of euphoria immediately. This is wrong. My thoughts are wrong. To even consider thinking of Claire while masturbating is fucked up.

She’s like a little sister to me.

The water grows cold and washes away the proof of my wrongdoings. I wish it could wash away my memory of it as well. The shower helped to lessen the tension, but now I feel like a sick fucker.