Page 2 of The Strength Of A Woman

What a terrible thing to even think about.

He probably left just after he talked to me. Maybe he went home. Maybe he joined his date and attended a different party.

I’d be crushed if that were the truth.

Maybe he just paid her a late-night visit, buried himself between her legs, and fucked her mindlessly, thinking about stuff that had nothing to do with her or having sex with her.

That reality would make my heart twist in pain, but I’d need to live with it.

Frankly, I have bigger problems now than thinking about who he is spending his time with.

I wish I knew more about his accommodations in town. As far as I know, my family doesn’t own any more properties in the area, but I may be wrong.

It might also be his property.

Or it may be that he had rented one of those luxurious coastal villas or a historic apartment.

I don’t see him living in a rural farmhouse, amasseria, a fortified traditional stone structure, although you never know. He may consider the safety aspect.

Who knows what’s going on in this man’s life? Other than, of course, that woman, Vittoria Petri. I wish I hadn’t met her.

It completely ruined my fantasizing about him.

A few moments pass.

It could be a multi-story townhouse.

It’s probably none of that.

There are plenty of hotels in town, and their owners would be more than happy to accommodate someone like him, despite his rather large crew.

I flick my hand in the air, trying to dismiss my fascination with him.

Things don’t go the way I want.

Although you couldn’t tell by how nice the house feels right now.

In a different universe, and in another life, I would wake up to a house filled with his presence.

His men would have brunch outside while he took a shower just about now.

The bedroom would smell of woodsy notes, musk, or aftershave.

I’d clench my legs under the sheets and dream about his returning, grabbing me, and fucking me like the world depended on us to survive.

In a different reality, I couldn’t wait to have my wrists gathered together in his fist, his eyes sunk in mine, his teeth tear into the softness of my lips, and his hard length move into me until I saw only light in front of my eyes.

In another time, he’d hover over me just about now, rock his hips, with every thrust tying me to him, making me part of his life and the bumpy road ahead of us.

He and I would be so great together.

He and I would rule our little world.

After spending some time in the darkest dungeons of the real world, I have no fear. Death means nothing to me.

How I live matters.

Every moment with him would have my full attention.