27
Aiden
Ican see she’s pissed as fuck at me as she comes toward me.
She’s wearing another summer dress I fantasized about her wearing. This one is yellow, and it matches the golden undertones of her skin well.
Irina’s report was that Olivia has been eating.
The evidence is in her skin. She doesn’t look pale anymore.
The nourishment has sharpened her attitude though, and probably made her think more on her feet.
There’s an air of disappointment lurking in the depths of her dark blue gaze that shouldn’t be there.
No one can mistake me for a good man, or even a normal man because I am neither.
If I were a better man this would be the part where I’d question my actions.
Or maybe it’s not about being a better man and more about being a leader.
Last night I was just a man. One who unleashed his inner desires when it came to claiming the angel.
I knew I’d have to pay for my new mistakes straight after.
But I’m still waiting to feel guilty.
What I feel guilty for is what I’m doing to myself. I knew she would never be a quick fuck to get the fascination out of my system.
I knew I’d want more after a taste and I did.
That is why I left her last night and didn’t return until ten minutes ago.
Ilya was fucking right.
Olivia screwed with me and here I am allowing her to do it again.
I had no intention of having dinner with her, then I saw her and remembered she was mine.
“Go and sit in that chair.” I point to the chair to the left of mine at the head of the table. I want her right next to me.
She does as she’s told and my eyes glue to her lush ass when she walks past me in silence with her pretty face scrunched up in annoyance.
Those hips look fucking amazing, taking the flow of the dress like it was made for her and I find I can’t look away.
She glances back at me and her cheeks color when she sees me blatantly checking out her ass, again.
I wonder how mortified she’d be if she knew I was thinking of fucking her ass or giving her a spanking just to watch the lush cheeks jiggle. She has the perfect ass for spanking and right now I could be demented enough to conjure up some excuse to take my hand to it again.
It’s not as if she wouldn’t like it.
I remember how soaked she was.
Drenched.
She sits and I follow.
Irina made a feast fit for God himself.