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Claire⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∘∙⊱⋅•⋅"I did the whole meal planning thing and now you have a week's supply of cooked food. I have labeled the boxes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so you won't have any problems," I said as I put the lid over the last Tupperware box. Mrs. Johnson sat at the table, watching me with a smile. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and gratitude as she asked me, "Are you going somewhere?" For a moment, I froze, the weight of tonight's task pressing down on me. But then I quickly brushed it aside, forcing a cheerful laugh as I shook my head. "Of course not," I replied with feigned cheerfulness. "I'm gonna be right here with you for a long, long time!"I knew that I might face the very worst tonight. It could be a gunshot echoing in the night, hands tightening around my throat, a bone-crushing force snapping my neck, or the cold steel of a blade finding its mark. The possibilities were endless, and none of them were pleasant.But despite the frightening thoughts that threatened
Claire⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∘∙⊱⋅•⋅"Paint me a picture," I continued, my voice a sensual caress, "I'm sprawled across your bed, helpless, bound by silk restraints, trembling for your touch. And the only thing on my bare, quivering flesh – those exquisite earrings. And you, my love, hold the reins of my every move, every inch of my fevered body at your command, at your mercy." His eyes bore into mine with a dangerous ferocity, a raw intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. His grip on my neck grew brutal, squeezing with such force that it threatened to cut off my very breath.But then, a wicked grin crept across his lips, and his hold softened, allowing me to draw in a ragged breath through my quivering nose. His fingers traced a slow, torturous path down my body, his predatory gaze tracking every inch of the journey."Complete control?" he asked, his voice dripping with a dark promise.I hesitated, the gravity of the moment hanging heavily in the air. A hunger, fierce and unrelenting, flickered i
Claire⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∘∙⊱⋅•⋅I can't take anymore tonight, If I do, I'd lose control just like I did all those years ago. I don't want to go down that road again. So, I mustered up some courage and hid it back under the dresser. I sat there on the floor for a few minutes, before I told myself to stop wallowing in self-pity and do something productive instead. I spent some time painting. It was a lady in a fancy black dress, looking really sexy, obviously, but then I decided to draw her reflection too. It was like her soul was burning while she walked through a freezing forest.Drawing her reflection was like peering into a mirror that revealed the hidden depths of my soul. It was as if I was walking through a forest covered in ice, where everything looked cold and unforgiving, but my spirit burned like a wild flame inside. It was a way of saying, "I'm more than just what you see."The night was still young, still a long way to go before I could find sleep. I pulled out my journal and started
Claire⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∘∙⊱⋅•⋅My need for him grew with every passing second, aching and relentless. The slow, deliberate roll of his erection against my clit was like a delicious torment, teasing me to the brink of ecstasy but holding back, making me hunger for more.He was teasing me... My hand moved to his belt, deftly unbuckling it, the tension in the air evident, my skin burned. His fingers, still on my back, dipped lower into my sweatpants, and with a swift motion, he lifted me off the counter, wrapping my legs around his waist. The kitchen faded away as he carried me, and he lazily strolled towards my bedroom.I clung to him, my arms tightly wrapped around his neck. His gaze was locked on me throughout the way, lingering on my lips, then delving into my eyes, and back to my lips again. "I really like your hair," he confessed as he gently set me down on the bed. He looked like a modern-day Greek god with his open white shirt, unbuckled pants, and tousled hair. The tousled hair added an
Claire⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∘∙⊱⋅•⋅Vincenzo, typically unemotional and serious, gently laid me back on the bed. His demeanor, though cold and stoic, seemed to carry a faint hint of concern as he silently walked to my closet and took out a towel from the bottom drawer.He moved to the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the room before he returned. His gaze, while still serious, held a fleeting softness as he parted my legs once more. With the warm, damp towel, he began to clean me, his touch still methodical but with a hint of consideration. The towel moved across my skin mechanically, yet there was a trace of gentleness in his actions, erasing any lingering traces of what we had just done.A subtle openness seemed to peek through Vincenzo's typically impenetrable facade. His actions, while still practical, carried a quiet acknowledgment of the connection we had shared, a hint of something more beneath the surface, or maybe I was just imagining things. Vincenzo retreated to the bathroom, th
Vincenzo⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∘∙⊱⋅•⋅I cast a brief, sideways glance at Sarah, who walked me into the building. She exuded an air of sophistication, her perfectly manicured nails clutched a designer handbag, and she looked every bit the socialite she was known to be. We had been seeing each other for some time, though my feelings for her were, at best, lukewarm. She was, in my eyes, a suitable candidate to become the wife of the future Capo of the Chicago Outfit, especially after last night. We entered the elevator to take us to my penthouse, Sarah carefully removed her gloves, her movements precise and graceful. She folded them meticulously and tucked them away, all the while maintaining a poised smile that never quite reached her eyes."Why didn't you tell me that you were coming to New York?" I inquired, my tone measured. She responded with a smile that seemed more rehearsed than genuine. "I wanted it to be a surprise for you, Vincenzo. I've missed you terribly. You've been in New York for five
Claire⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∘∙⊱⋅•⋅I paced back and forth in my living room, morning light streamed in through the curtains, the craving gnawing at my insides. The temptation was stronger than ever, and I knew that giving in this time might mean there was no turning back. I'd already relapsed twice, and the third time could seal my fate.With shaking hands, I reached for my cell phone. My fingers found Ethan's number, and I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to call him. The ringing on the other end felt like an eternity, a tug-of-war between my willpower and my addiction.Finally, Ethan's voice broke through, offering a lifeline in my darkest hour. "Cindy? Is everything okay?"My voice was strained, desperation evident. "Ethan, I can't do this anymore. This urge is consuming me.""Hey, hey, it's okay, remember why you decided to get clean. You've fought through this before."Tears welled up in my eyes, "I know, but the urge is unbearable. I just want that one hit."He sighed, "You know it's ne
Vincenzo⋅•⋅⊰∙∘∘∙⊱⋅•⋅"It's your last night here in New York, Blade. How about we enjoy it more and talk a little less about business," Scott said as a waitress placed drinks before us.I leaned back in my chair, taking in the dimly lit ambiance of the upscale nightclub. I couldn't help but agree with Scott's suggestion. It had been a long week of meetings, negotiations, and strategizing. A night off from business discussions sounded like a welcome change of pace.I picked up a glass of whiskey, and my foolish brothers erupted in cheers.From the VIP section, I had a perfect view of the dance floor. I scanned the crowd, looking for Sarah among the women. This wasn't really her scene, and I wondered how she was handling the booming music and flashing lights.My gaze was drawn to a splash of pink amidst the club's vibrant lights. I felt a muscle twitch in my jaw, but I tore my eyes away from her and focused on the conversation with the men. We chatted as if everything was entirely normal