𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐋 {𝟏𝟖+}

XLIX

Lorenzo refused to glance at my dripping sex, choosing instead to focus on the rest of my body. "I would never, ever let you do that again in the future. I mean it, Alison."

I knew he meant it, I knew that I was pushing it, so I got off of him and let myself fall down between the sheets, huffing in annoyance. "But I want to sleep next to you." I complained, crossing my arms over my chest.
It was beautiful, though. I was so comfortable around him that I wasn't scared of being my true self, even if that meant showing him my most spoiled and infantile side, without however fearing that it would drive him away. Somehow, I knew that he also liked this part of my personality, actually, he found it adorable, albeit the fact that it sometimes got on his nerves. Though his irritation would never last long, for I would always manage to make him crack a smile, just like at this moment.

He got on his feet and walked to the cream armchair near the bed, picking up my yellow gown and matching panties. "I know, Ali, and I would like to just get undressed and get back in bed with you to spoon you until we fall asleep, but I can't. If you want this to keep going, you'll have to listen to me." He spoke matter-of-factly, bending down to lift my feet and slide my panties on, helping me with my clothes as if I were a child.

"You know I can do this by myself, right?" I observed, nibbling on the pad of my thumb to hold back the smile that was threatening to spread on my lips as I raised my hips, allowing him to cover my lower half. I loved that he was doing that as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Mhm." The Italian man replied uninterestedly, getting on top of me and laying his hand on my cheek, stroking it delicately before locking lips with me. The kiss was slow, gentle, not rushed at all, for he was exploring and enjoying every crevice of my mouth. His hands slipped under my derrière and he took me in his arms, never once breaking the kiss as he pinned me against the wall.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, not understanding what was going on and not really caring. If this was going to lead to another round of sex, I certainly wasn't going to stop it.

The odds, however, didn't seem to be in my favor, for he pulled away and set me back down on my feet. "Come on, put on your dress and let's go."

I glanced at him in confusion and disappointment, but I knew better than to complain. I wanted our affair to keep going, so I was going to listen to him.

Lorenzo parked his car outside of the mansion's gates, right under a big tree, as though he was scared that my father— or anyone else for that matter, might see us, even if that was absolutely impossible. He turned his head to look at me, his eyes kind and holding some sort of emotion in them. "Thank you for tonight, Ali. I'm sorry I had to cut it short."

I smiled at him, my heart bursting in my chest at the fact that he was actually thanking me for my company, and I intertwined my fingers with his long and manly ones, placing his hand in my lap. "It's okay, I get it..." My voice trailed off, dying in my throat as a sudden need to cry began to take over me. "Goodnight." I blurted out quickly and abruptly, trying to get out of the car before he could see the solitary tear that was rolling down my cheek.

It was stupid of me, that much I knew, yet the thought of him going back to his wife was making my world crumble around me. I couldn't exactly tell why this particular moment was different than the rest, considering how I was always aware of the fact that he was sleeping next to her every night, all I knew is that I was most likely starting to have a panic attack over it.

He wasn't like any other man, though, and that was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because he always seemed to be prepared for my mood swings, and because he knew how to deal with my difficult personality; a curse because he now had his hand wrapped tightly around my wrist, preventing me from exiting his car. "Alison."

I could feel his eyes on me, and I refused to meet his gaze, for I didn't need him to know that I was crying like the pathetic, weak girl that I was, that this situation had turned me into. "It's late, I need to go." Much to my dismay, my voice cracked at the last word, rendering my attempts to hide my face utterly futile.

"Baby," He started, his voice merely a whisper, filled with worry. "why are you crying?" He asked, genuinely concerned as he set his fingers under my chin, making me look up at him. His thumb came to my cheekbone, and he delicately wiped away my tears, which still kept on coming.

I was so tired, so exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I couldn't keep on pretending that everything was fine and breezy when it was not. "I just hate her!" I snapped angrily, shoving him away from me, his touch suddenly becoming suffocating, stifling.
My rational brain was screaming at me to leave it at that and run away from him, back to the safety of my house, but my body didn't budge. "I fucking hate your wife, I fucking hate that you have to go and leave me on my own!" I yelled through tears.

It was getting hard to breathe, everything was closing in on me, the limited space inside his car becoming even more limited. I opened the car door and got out before he could manage to come up with a reply, a reply that I honestly dreaded.
Like some sort of madwoman, I entered the gates and ran through the front garden, holding my dress up so as to not be sent flying to the ground.

You ruined it. You absolutely ruined it. Was how my mind chose to torture me, those two sentences dancing and swirling inside my brain, making my head spin.

I stumbled inside the house after fumbling with the keys for a good 5 minutes— all thanks to my blurry vision, and immediately discarded my pumps, slipping them off and letting them fall on the marble floor with what seemed to be a deafening thump in the profound silence that reigned in the mansion. I didn't bother to pick them up, instead, I paced up the stairs and swiftly rushed into my bedroom, set on taking a shower before leaving.

"He must hate you now, you bloody stupid whore." I spat out through gritted teeth as I stared into my full-length mirror at my pathetic reflection. There was pure disgust in my eyes, and it took all I had not to smash that mirror in a million pieces.

How could I be so impulsive? So irrational and immature? How could I be so violent towards his wife, when she was the most important person in the world to him?

"At least I didn't tell him how much I wish to see her dead." I muttered, sick amusement coating my voice, making me look scary as a smirk found its way on my tear-streaked face.
I dragged my eyes away from my reflected image and brought my hand to my back, struggling to get a hold of the tiny puller and unzip my gown. Clearly, it had been a much more rapid process when it had been Lorenzo the one to do it.

Another fresh set of tears started to slide down my sticky cheeks, and the amount of salty water that my tear ducts produced got even more copious when I saw all the love bites, all the marks that he had left on my otherwise flawless skin.

Before him, all I was was a spotless, immaculate canvas, waiting for the right man to leave his colors, his signature on me, to transform me into a masterpiece with his artistry.
And maybe I was a masterpiece, yet I was the furthest thing from Gustav Klimt's The Kiss, resembling instead Edvard Munch's Puberty— a used up version of it, that is.