Page 23 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

Chapter Four

Robert

I watch her.

I’m hard. Painfully so.

My body reacts before I can even think through it, my cock hard, straining against my pants, aching in a way that feels almost unfair.

I shift slightly, but it doesn’t help.

If anything, it makes it worse.

There’s a heaviness to it. A pull. Like my body is leaning toward her even from here, even without touching, without being close enough to matter.

I exhale slowly, trying to stifle it, but it lingers.

It builds.

It’s frustrating… how easily she does this. How she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

And I can’t look away from the monitors.

I lean back slightly, one hand resting against the arm of the chair, the other loose, idle, but my attention is anything but.

Christine fills the screen without knowing it.

She’s on the bed now, the gold and red of the room clinging to her skin, wrapping around her like the suite was designed for this exact moment. For her. For me to watch.

And I take my time.

There’s no rush when you already know how something ends.

I watch her move like she’s trying not to feel what she’s feeling. Like she’s fighting herself more than anything else.

It’s subtle at first. The almost shy way her hand slides between her legs, the slow parting of them, like she’s giving in inch by inch before slipping her hand underneath.

The sound she makes when she arches into her own touch hits me instantly, causing a shiver to run straight down my cock.

I grunt under my breath, feeling the arousal compounds, sweat breaking across my skin as my body contracts around it.

I’ve seen this before. Not her, but this.

My gaze points, narrowing just slightly as she tilts her head, eyes closed, completely unaware of how exposed she is, how open.

How far gone.

She moves again, riding her fingers.

I push off the seat abruptly, the chair scraping faintly behind me as I stand. The pressure is too much sitting down, too close to snapping into something I’m not ready to give in to yet.

I start pacing but each step winds it further, my hands flexing at my sides before I drag one through my hair, exhaling through my nose.

I could go to her right now.

I could end my suffering.

I pace instead, back and forth, the room suddenly too small for what’s building in me. Every sound she makes pulls at me, every shift of her body dragging me closer to the edge I’m choosing not to cross.