Page 51 of The Italian Obsession

“Yes, but there are conditions. I will be escorting you to the airport, and you will leave Italy immediately.”

“Oh.” I frown. “I-I missed my flight,” I stammer.

“You’ll be flying on the Ferrara jet. I will be accompanying you back to Australia.”

“That’s not necessary.” I don’t want to go on Enrico’s father’s fucking plane. That’s the last place I want to be. “I’ll book a commercial flight. I don’t want to put anyone out.”

Mario’s eyes hold mine. “That is the condition of your release. It’s non-negotiable.”

I stare at him as the lump in my throat begins to close over. Enrico would know this, and he has chosen to not be the one who accompanies me home.

I nod, unable to push any coherent words past my lips.

The policeman gestures toward the door. “This way. We have some paperwork for you to sign, and then you can go.”

Relief begins to flood through me, and I force a smile despite my tears. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Chapter 8

ENRICO

DECEMBER, 18 MONTHS LATER

She arches her back, her body straddled over mine as she rides my cock. My hands hold her hips, guiding her to where I want her.

In, out, deep… so deep.

My legs are spread, and our bodies are covered in perspiration as we writhe together. Her long, dark hair falls down her back as she watches me with her big brown eyes in the diluted light.

Sex.

My necessary evil.

At least three times a week I have it. Sometimes with one girl, or two from one of my brothels. Other times, I go traditional and meet a woman. Tonight, it’s with one of my general managers, Sofia. She’s beautiful—everything a man could need. We fuck often but she leaves me still hungry and unsatisfied.

They all do.

We’ve been at it for an hour and I’m nowhere near close to coming.

I hate this. I hate that I have this need to fuck, yet can’t come when it’s happening. It’s the worst kind of torture.

Sofia moans, half in pain. I know I have to let her go. I’ll have to finish myself off.

Fuck this.

I close my eyes and go to my kink—the only thing that can get the job done.

Olivia.

I imagine it’s her on top, riding me. I envision her blonde hair and those big blue eyes. I feel myself relax as I imagine her looking down at me.

Soft and lush. “Clench,” I command.

She tightens and I smile. There she is. My tight girl Olivia.

I lose control, and in one motion, I flip her onto her back and lift her legs over my shoulders. I let her have it.

Deep, hard pumps.