Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
It wasn’t pleasant and it wasn’t nice. It didn’t match up with what I’d always thought of as the core of my person.
In my mind, in my dreams, I believed I was good.
Even that night, sleeping soundless, content and floating, I still thought it in some quiet part of my soul. Even though I’d been shown the truth, I still couldn’t quite accept it.
I was bad.
I was rotten.
There was something broken inside of me, something twisted and jagged, a piece that was missing.
I never noticed before. Not when I was living a relatively normal life, despite my junkie asshole thief father. I thought I was good because I wasn’t like him, but taking Dante in my mouth, in my throat, between my legs, and loving every single second of it made me realize the truth.
I wasn’t good. I wasn’t even decent.
I was selfish and bad.
But I didn’t care.
It didn’t matter to me anymore. I was ready to let go of my old life and move on to something else. I didn’t know what kind of person I was going to become, or if I was just starting to open to my eyes to the kind of person that I’ve always been. But either way, I was ready to embrace it all.
I was ready to let sweat drop down my naked skin as Dante used my body however he liked, because I knew I’d always love it, always love riding his cock or letting him fuck me senseless. If he wanted me, if he needed me, then I wanted to give him everything.
Every inch of me, no matter how wrecked and useless, because he wanted it.
That was what made me realize. He wanted me, despite being ruined. He wanted me because he saw that blemish, that mark on my soul, and wanted me anyway, not despite my flaws but because of them. He liked my darkness, liked that I had more of my father inside of me than I wanted to admit. He liked that I was seduced by a killer.
We were made for each other. As wrong and as fucked up as that was, it just didn’t matter anymore.
I woke up and rolled onto my side. The clock on Dante’s bedside table said it was just after six in the morning. I rolled over again, but Dante wasn’t in the bed anymore, and his pillow was cold.
I got up and found a pair of gym shorts. I pulled them on, found an old t-shirt, and slipped it over my head. I put my hair up using the black hair tie on my wrist and walked into the bathroom. I brushed my teeth using his toothbrush then headed downstairs. I could smell coffee in the pot, and I found Dante standing near the back window, looking outside. I paused just inside the kitchen as Gino looked up from the table.
“Morning,” I said to him, a little surprised.
“Morning,” he grunted, and looked back down at his phone.
I got a cup of coffee then walked over to Dante. I joined him, feeling strange and tentative, like a baby fawn crossing the road for the first time. The day before still lingered in my mind.
Dante wore a tight white t-shirt and long, slim black sweats. He had on running shoes, like he was about to work out, but he wasn’t sweaty yet. He nodded to me as I joined him by the window.
“Gino’s here,” I said.
“I noticed.”
“I thought we’d have some alone time.” I frowned up at him. “Since the Don told you not to do anything for a little while.”
He smiled at me and touched my cheek. “Gino’s just here for protection. Don’t worry about him.” He dropped his hand and stared out the window again.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
He hesitated then nodded toward the back door. “Come here. I’ll show you.”
I followed him out the back, down the short concrete steps, and onto the back patio. It was a concrete slab with simple metal outdoor furniture and an umbrella lying on its side on the ground. The small patch of grass was cut short, and there was only one plant, a tree with a skinny trunk and leaves in long teardrop shapes arranged almost like a palm tree.
He walked over to the tree and looked at it, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Looks like an overgrown weed.”
He laughed. “That’s exactly right. It’s called a Tree of Heaven. Fancy name, right?”
“Sure.” I tilted my head and shrugged. “What about it?”
“It’s an invasive species,” he said. “Incredibly resilient. It can grow anywhere, especially in the city. Thrives in just about any climate and it’s incredibly hard to kill. You have to destroy the root system or it’ll grow up again somewhere else, like whack-a-mole.”