Selene isn't just beautiful, she isn't just pretty, but extraordinarily gorgeous. I have never seen someone as blindingly dashing as her in my 36 years of life, her velvet deep raspy voice was just the tip of the iceberg. She isn't just sexy, she's the most sensual human being go ever walk on this earth.
Des blinked more than 500 times after she came down the stairs, so there were countless picture of her waiting for me, and after I got that first glimpse of her, I felt like punching the bloody hell out of Desmond just for having been that near her, for looking at her enough to get me so many pics. I know, I'm the one who told him to go, but that didn't soften the ravenous feeling that consumed me. A kind of bloodlust that had origins in jealousy.
I have never felt jealous of another women aside from mamma and Carla Gabriella, never. I have never been in a relationship with anyone, only one night stands solely for sex, because I do enjoy sex a lot, a real lot, it's like caffeine in my veins, it gives me life. But I never kiss any of them, I only kissed one when I was 15, a lil crush I had, but it felt wrong, so I told myself I would only kiss someone I had feelings for. The only kind of kiss I gave those girls was a Greek kiss, if you know what I mean.
But when my eyes landed on her full round pouty lips died red in the screen of my computer, mine went numb, needy for the touch of hers against them. My entire body grew hotter for her. My cock definitely did.
Getting hard just by listening to her voice was nothing compared to how hard I got when my eyes landed on her, on her toned body wrapped in that Loro Piana dress like a second skin, marking all of her sensual curves and her mouthwatering hourglass shape. My heart felt desperate to get free of my ribcage and fly to her small hand, craving to be physically pierced by her obsidian hook.
I couldn't hear what she was talking by the pictures, of course, but I could see the movements of her red lips. I could see her enchanting face went from annoyed, to curious, to cold, to sarcastic and sardonic, to cold again, then condescending, later morbidly serious, vicious, sarcastic one more time. Then to tired of the social conversation, which was when the pictures of her leaving with the Polish vodka bottle came.
It made me want to be there, to see her with my own eyes, to see how she would react to me, to my presence, to my gaze, to my voice. Would she be that cold and sardonic? Would she be attracted to me as I am to her? Would she get as turned on by my appearance as she got me by hers? Would she desire me? Would she hate what she sees?
How short will she look near me? She looked tiny when Des stood up, and he's shorter than me by a bit. Would she glare at me for being so tall that her neck will almost crack when she looks up? Or will she pretend to hate it while secretly enjoying being near someone as tall as I am? Will her nipples get as hard as my cock?
I was unable to sleep even after I arrived in London, as I left less than an hour after I had gone to my room, spending practically the whole night like a teenager with obsessed over a crush. Beating my cock at the thought of her, at the thought of her voice, imagining that it was her hand around it and not mine. Her hands looked small, I doubt they would be able to close around my thick cock.
How tight would her pussy be around my length?
Will it taste as much like heaven as I imagine? I'm huge, we would definitely struggle considerably for me to fit on her, even if she's deep. Would she beg me to stop, even though her body will cry for the opposite? Or would that make her crave for even more of me? How addicting will her voice sound when she's screaming my name as I pour it all inside her?
Fuck.
Fuck, I'm screwed.
Des knows me way too fucking well. No wonder he told me I would be crazy over this girl when I saw her. He wasn't fucking joking, because right now, I feel like I could kill someone if I learned they merely flirted with her. I've never killed anyone without it being in a mission, or those who tried to assassinate me for personal conflicts, but I don't think I'll be able to control myself with anyone who looks wrongly at her way.
I was having my third cold bath in a spam of an hour and half, in my place in Mayfair, when Michel called. "Alexa, take the call and put it on speaker," I growled, turning the freezing shower off. "How it went?" I asked, my voice a roar, jealousy creeping inside of me again, with the idea that Desmond saw her again, and that this time so did Michelangelo and Caelan, when I still haven't seen her in person.
"Jeez, Eric, why are you angry? It's 7:45 am," Michel gasped.
"Fuck off, just tell me how it went!"
"Aye, aye, angry much that we got to see her before you did?" Des provoked, knowing exactly where to poke.
"If you don't want me to mutilate your cock and impale with it, you better stop fucking around and tell me how the fuck did this went, bloody wanker. You know better than to poke me when I'm angry, and right now, I am furious, so spill it!"
I know it's not their fault and I'm being an arsehole about it, but I can't bloody help it, this is stronger than me.