The Dons Siren

Chapter Nine

Matteo

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me. What the actual fuck was I doing kissing another woman? Kissing her.

I felt like some caveman, some pathetic man without any self-control or willpower. I was a D'Angelo. A man who took his first life at the age of twelve.

I hadn't even hit puberty and still had the strength and steadiness to not miss my first shot. That's how focused, patient, and determined I was to get it right.

Even with Isabella, I took my time dating her, getting to know her before marrying her. Isabella was so innocent and pure that I didn't want to corrupt her, so I never touched her until we were married.

It's not like I was a virgin when we met, but the need to be gentle with her rang like warning bells in my head every time I was with her.

I've never been rough with Isabella before. I loved her too much to harm her, mark her, or even bite her.

Yet this woman brought out the beast inside me that I only brought out when I was working. She summoned the carnal animal inside me with every word that fell out of her nectareous lips and every sway of that heavenly iniquitous body.

I wanted to brand every inch of her skin with my fingers and mouth. I wanted to scar her flesh with my knife, kiss, and lick every drop of blood that trickled down her skin.

I wanted to push her face down into the dirt and fuck her into submission.

With Sofia, I felt a prodigious, primal desire to touch her, kiss her, and fuck her. With Sofia, nothing was normal or textbook.

She made me want to break every single rule I had created in my head so that I could have her, and taste her.

She tasted like peaches. Sweet, filthy peaches.

I wanted to cut her open, taste her juices, and feel the trickling wetness drench my face and chin as I devoured her.

She shouldn't make me want to do anything. She shouldn't have an ounce of control or power over me.

She should be nothing to me. The thing is, what she should be and what she actually was were two entirely different things.

The tremendously robust hold she had on me was smothering at best. It was a mere contradiction that the person of my darkest desires was the only person who gave me a reason to breathe.

Sofia, what have you done to me? Why would you allow me to kiss you? Why would you let me have a ravenous taste of that mouth, that sweet tongue ?

How can something feel good, taste good, yet be wrong, so goddamn wrong? How can I want someone this bad after losing my wife?

I felt like I was betraying the memory of Isabella by thinking of another woman. It was my guilty conscience that would make me hate myself more than I already do for losing my wife from the very beginning.

I should have been there for her to prevent her from getting kidnapped, tortured, then murdered in cold blood. I should have taken better precautions and not let her leave the house as much as she wanted.

I speak of my love for her, yet did I even love her?  Truly if I loved her, I would have never let anything happen to her.

If I were to give myself another weakness, another vantage point for my enemies, they'd also get to her. I needed to play this smart.

I needed to learn from my past mistakes and never allow myself to be put in that same position again.

Sofia would be safe if I stayed away if I could get myself to fucking stay away. I needed her safe, alive, and, more importantly, away from me.