Page 22 of Secrets of the Brother
My breath caught, my imagination recreating the feel of Enzo stepping between them, the sound of his zipper lowering.
I grasped the fabric of my nightgown and inched it up over my knees.
What would he have done next?
Would he have torn open my dress to get to my breasts?
Or wrenched my hem up higher to tear at my panties?
My right hand slipped between my thighs.
Would he have teased me with just the tip of his cock?
Or grabbed my hips and thrust in forcefully, taking me brutally, right there on the top of his desk?
The tip of my finger slid over the wet cotton of my panties.
“Bianca?”
My eyes flew open.
“Bianca? Are you awake yet?”
I swallowed as I hastily pushed the hem of my nightgown down. “Yes, Mother. I mean, Claudia,” I called out through my closed bedroom door, scrambling to shove the drawing of Enzo under my bed.
I rose and pressed my hands to my heated cheeks.
My mother yelled, “Stop lazing about. Your father and I are waiting in the breakfast room.”
“Coming!”
I dropped my head and stared at the floor.
That man!
God damn that man!
He wasn’t even here, and I was still responding to him.
Would I ever be free of him?
Yes. The answer was simple.
I would trade my freedom for his.
If I could prove to myself that Enzo was guilty of murdering my sister, then it would truly end all hope, even that tiny, obnoxious spark that refused to die deep inside of me.
If he is guilty, then I will have no regrets, excuses, or doubts about finally moving on.
We will be done… forever.
* * *
I strippedthe bed of the ruined sheet and shoved it in the laundry hamper before tossing a robe on. Casting a rueful glance at my flushed face, I hastened down the stairs.
Stopping to take a deep breath, I placed a hand over my stomach to calm the butterflies before entering the bright breakfast room.
Unfortunately, my mother shared my sister's love of garish decor.
