I think about kissing his cheek, but it might be better just to go. I’ll suffer in silence.
“Wait,” he snaps, while closing the door before I can step outside. My head down, I obey and remain silent. He stands right in front of me, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and gently brings my chin up. My heart skips a beat when I meet his eyes again. He caresses my cheek with such a warm and smooth touch that I shiver. His thumb moves slowly to my mouth, fondling it. I can’t resist further, shutting my eyes and letting him watch my lips kiss his fingertip. He swallows hard. I look up at him, but he’s still staring fixedly at them. I know he wants me. It can’t be true! He inclines his face toward mine, closes his eyes, and I finally taste the most succulent fruit I’ve ever enjoyed. My face flushes, my pussy drenches, and my heart explodes like fireworks, feeling his lips pinned on mine. I don’t want this moment to ever end. Oh my. I want you so much, Alex. While caressing my cheeks, he gives me a long and tender lingering kiss. I feel the heat of our bodies rising with every second, my desire intensifying, lust burning down between my legs at the urge to feel him. I keep smooching his lips, asking for more, but he breaks our kiss, and we open our eyes. “Oh, Petra,” he mumbles as we look into each other's eyes, his thumbs still stroking my cheeks. “Forgive me… I… I had to kiss you,” he adds, his voice warm but barely audible. I keep staring at him with parted lips, totally mesmerized. Speechless. Waiting for more. For so much more. “Have a good night.” What? He gives me another kiss, but this time on my forehead.
“Let me stay,” I beg in a whisper as I nuzzle up against him. “Let me stay.”
He shuts his eyes, hugging me tight, so tight that I can hear his heartbeat pounding fast. “I can’t…” he murmurs. The sorrow in his voice resonates through me, his rejection crushing my heart.
“Why?” I ask, matching his low tone. He presses a long good night kiss on my forehead again, but I feel his agony more than anything else.
“You know why,” he replies feebly.
I close my eyes to contain the pain and tears, knowing all too well the answer. But it’s so hard for me to accept it. My mind is intoxicated, desperate to have more of him, more of his lips, his touch, his body. It’s like my heart has been released after ten years, and I would give myself entirely and completely to him at this precise moment, anything he asked. But he reopens the door, and this time, I know it’s for good. I don’t protest, don’t reply, just leave.
Alone in bed, sleeping feels impossible. My body is burning, my mind drunk on him. Did he really kiss me? Why did he do that? Does he also have feelings for me? I close my eyes, touching his coat of arms laying on my chest. I know at least this small part of him will belong to me forever. His piercing blue eyes, his scent, the warmth of his arms, the heady sensation of being so close to him... Oh, dear. My body contorts at the very thought of him, my legs impulsively spreading apart. I’m not wearing anything underneath. I’m too warm. I timidly move my hand down to my belly button. Reaching my pelvis, I feel the heat emanating. But I can’t stop there. I slide my fingers slowly lower. I bite my bottom lip as I reach my clit. I’m soaking. I’ve never touched myself before, but I’ve never felt so horny either. My lips part in excitement as my breath quickens. I can’t help but picture his lean body on top of mine, passionately devouring my mouth, and how it’d feel having his cock perforating my hymen. “Ahh…” Maybe it’d hurt, but I moan with pleasure at these images, liking them too much. He’d be kissing my lips while thrusting into me slowly—but firmly enough—until he made his way in. Our naked bodies would be pinned against each other, trembling at the pressed rhythm of his strokes into me.
“Ahh…” I moan again, this time louder. “Deeper…” I whisper to him.
My fingers continue to rub around my clit, faster and faster, like his cock obeying my commands. I feel tempted to slip one inside, but resist—my pussy belongs to him, and only he can get inside. Fuck. If I can’t have him in real life, at least in my most intimate dreams, he’s all mine.
“You belong entirely to me, Petra. I love you,” he’d whisper after cumming, and he’d kiss my forehead just like he did tonight.
Between panting breaths and a sweaty face, I smile at him, knowing I’m his woman. He’s finally deep inside, and I feel myself bleeding. I look into his blue eyes—they always take my breath away—and, my heart at his mercy, I breathe, “I love you, Alexander.”
Oh God, is it obsession? Lust? Love? Everything together? I don’t know, but of one thing I’m certain—Alexander Van Dieren will be the only one to have me. No matter what. No matter how long I have to wait. I belong entirely to him. I know he wants me. I know he wants me as much as I want him. Gosh. I feel a warm fluid dripping down between my legs. I swallow hard. It’s definitely not his, but mine. I feel so relieved afterward that I’m finally ready to sleep like a baby.
I don’t see him the next day. He doesn’t text me either. However I did receive a message from Dad wishing me a safe flight to Rotterdam and I also talked to him over the phone, sharing my thoughts about the conference on the way to Ciampino Airport. Nevertheless, I’m as happy as I’ve ever been. And why wouldn’t I be? I’ve just had the most amazing evening of my life. I go to the bathroom on the plane to refresh myself. I can’t help but notice the beautiful necklace staring back at me. I’m unusually glowing. Suddenly, I narrow my eyes at a strange pinkish mark on my neck. Holy shit. My face beams with joy. It’s him—he gave me a hickey! I blush, remembering my evening. I’m certain he didn’t do it accidentally; he wants me. This is the proof. I decide to hide it with a silk scarf around my neck. After all, no one, including my mom, needs to see this.
Chapter 12
Rotterdam, August 30, 2019
Petra Van Gatt
Mom lives on a beautiful property outside Rotterdam, on her own since the divorce from Dad. She enjoys her occasional “friends,” but no one serious enough to introduce me. She has, nevertheless, the amazing Anika, her loyal help. I’ve often wondered how Mom spends her days. From what she’s said, she usually travels, takes care of her garden, or helps some female-oriented organization. In fact, Mom has been particularly focused on female causes, investing her time and resources in many nonprofits that provide support for victims of domestic violence and sexual abuse. She has become an idol in her own right for many in the city, cultivating a great reputation.
As always, Mom is standing outside with her two kooikerhondje dogs, waiting for my car to arrive. I notice that she cut her long, straight blonde hair. She’s now styling it very short, but it suits her better like that.
“Mom!” I rush out of the car and hug her tight.
“Oh, my little angel,” replies Mom, kissing the top of my head. “You look wonderful.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Let’s go inside. Anika, please take the luggage to Petra’s bedroom.”
“Hi, Anika.” I joyfully hug her like a sister.
“Petra, it’s so good to see you. Your mom wouldn’t stop complaining how she missed you.”
Mom rolls her eyes.
“I missed Rotterdam so much. Mostly I missed you and Mom.”
“How was Rome?” asks Mom. “I’m dying to know everything. Let’s go the tea room,” she adds, grasping my hand.
The tea room is our favorite place in the whole house—an elegant and cozy living room where we can spend hours chatting about the most random subjects while emptying countless teapots. In the winter, we usually light a fire. Time always flies here. Unlike with Dad, I love to discuss everything and nothing with Mom. She’s so open-minded, so liberal; the conversations are so fluid, without filters. Along with Emma, Mom is one of my most intimate confidants. While I’m recalling my summer internship and the conference in Rome, I get the feeling Mom is particularly intrigued about something.
“I recognize this pendant…” she rebukes, while stirring her tea.
I blush, touching it instinctively. “Alex and I are friends again,” I simply reply. “I a
ctually didn’t know he was from nobility.”
“Well, there is a lot about him and his family you don’t know...” It feels like a hint. “But anyway, that’s great. I’m glad for you. He has always been so kind and caring to you. I’m happy he’s back in your life.” Her tone and face, though, say otherwise.
“Indeed, and he continues to be exactly the same.”
“So, tell me.” Mom leans closer to me. “Why are you glowing? You look so radiant. I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“Well…” I bite my lip, undecided if I should tell her the truth or not. “I’m in love, Mom,” I announce, taking a sip of my tea.
“This is wonderful news. Finally. I felt there was something going on. You look happier, more vivid. So, who’s the lucky one?”
In fact, in seventeen years, I’ve never announced these words. It feels so strange, yet so wonderful at the same time. “Well”—I clear my throat—“I’m not sure if you’ll be too enthusiastic.”
“Why not? You drank your first glass of champagne with me. I’m quite open-minded.” Mom sees me hesitating. “C’mon, we never keep secrets from each other.”
And she’s right. “Very well.” I take a long breath, ready for World War III. “It’s Alex...”
Mom’s face goes blank, then livid. “Alex? You mean, as in Alexander Van Dieren?” I nod. “You must be kidding me! Petra, again? You know perfectly well he’s your godfather and way too old for you. Forget this nonsense, alright?”
I knew Mom wouldn’t approve. But I try to convince her anyway. “I do really love him.”
“You are confusing love with attraction, my dear. I know he is very good-looking and charming, but he is your father’s best friend and more than twice your age.”
“He’s also my best friend. I trust him completely.”
“Petra.” Her tone’s more authoritative. “Promise me you won’t do anything with him. I’m serious about this. Or else I’ll have to call Roy, and you know how much I hate talking to your father.”
I sigh. “Why are you so against him?”
“Because you’re way too young!” she snarls, louder than usual. Mom takes a deep breath and tries to remain calm. “Look, Columbia is around the corner. You’ll find plenty of amazing, well-educated boys there, believe me. Alexander should remain what he is—a friend. You should be glad he came back after what you did.”
“That incident was ten years ago! I was seven. Now it’s different, I’m turning eighte—”
“Exactly,” she barks abruptly. “Now it’s different. Now you can be rational and realize he is not the right man for you.”
“So it’s only about the age difference?”
“Petra.” It seems like she’s about to lose her temper. “Van Dieren has quite a reputation among women…”
“I know that. But with me he is different...”
“That’s what all his previous girlfriends thought! That they were special, different. Look at Amanda, ten years in a relationship with him. Ten years! Poor woman, she gave too much of herself. She always did what he wanted, expecting one day maybe they would get engaged. And what did he do? He dumped her.” She exhales loudly in annoyance. “Petra, you know how much I want to see you happy, right? But promise me you’ll keep your distance.” She reaches out, taking my hand and looking me straight in the eyes. “I’m serious, my little angel. This man will only break your heart. I know him much better than you do.”
There’s no possible way to change my mother’s mind on this. I let out a sigh. “Alright. As you wish” feels like the right answer to give. I have no intention whatsoever of doing so, but she could call Dad and reveal my secret at any time. I feel so stupid and naive to have trusted her like that. After all, Alex already disappeared for ten years—I can’t risk losing him again.
Chapter 13
Manhattan, September 12, 2019
Alexander Van Dieren
Fuck. What have I done?
Since I came back from Rome, I haven’t felt like seeing anyone, not even Lucy—and she was quite fun to have around. Two weeks have passed, and yet my mind keeps ruminating about that kiss. That night was pure magic. From our ride in the taxi, our dinner, our dance, our… Argh. I can’t believe it. Petra is your goddaughter, man. I sigh, displeased. But now it feels so different. Now it’s not only about protecting her, caring for her, and loving her like family. Now Petra is no longer that little girl running in the green fields of my estate. Now she’s finally a woman—and an adult in a few months… Damn. You knew bringing her to your suite would be a mistake. And a big one. Oh God, but she’s so charming. She’s always known how to entice me with her angelic face and cheeky smile... I know I should’ve never tasted her lips, sucked her neck, or felt her so close to me. And worst of all was seeing her find pleasure with me. Since then, those images have been stuck in my mind and my heart—and despite my many attempts, they’re not leaving. I feel so ashamed and disgusted by feeling so turned on by her. I’m definitely not the right man for her. Hell, she’s the cherished daughter of my best friend and business partner, and my own goddaughter! I should’ve stayed home right here in New York... But letting that douchebag Andrew spend an evening with her would’ve been impossible to bear. What about apologizing? No. I can’t handle seeing Petra again. At least not yet. Texting her maybe? Terrible idea—it’ll leave a paper trail. What if Roy reads it? Whatever. I’ve got to forget it. Now that she’s at Columbia, she can find someone her own age, a nice, young, gentle boy without my past, my reputation, my kinks… I just need time to heal. Time alone. And far from her.
“So, Alex, what do you think?”
“Van Dieren?”
I blink, returning back to earth. “I think it’s great.” I have no idea what Roy and Paulo are talking about, but I hope it’s great anyway.
“Very well. Paulo, count us in for your big day, then. Can’t wait to be back in Rio. Petra will love it.”
Oh God, the wedding. I’ve totally forgotten. Paulo, the CFO at Gatt-Dieren Capital, is getting married next month in Rio. It will be a sumptuous and pompous ceremony for him and his Brazilian fiancée. I knew Roy and I would be attending, but Petra?
I lean closer to Roy’s ear, and in a low voice ask, “I’m sorry, Roy, are you sure Petra should be attending? A big wedding could be too much for her…”
Roy smiles, seeing me so worried. “My dear friend, I would’ve agreed with you just three months ago,” he replies with the same low voice. “But the doctors said she has made substantial progresses. I think having you around has given her more confidence.” Roy gives me a light and comforting clap on my arm.
I swallow hard. Petra can’t be around. I have to heal. Seeing her will only hurt my heart. I can’t see her or her delicious cherry lips; her big, dreamy blue eyes; her delicate skin; her long dark hair that smells like jasmine. “What about her classes?”
“Relax. We leave Thursday and come back Sunday. She’ll just miss two days.” I sigh. Roy seems decided. Happily decided. I take a sip of my whiskey. “Look at that woman over there.” Roy points to the entrance of the lounge. I follow his finger.
Paulo hears and looks too. “Oh. It’s Rafaela, one of the bridesmaids. I invited her over. She is spending a week here in New York.” Paulo stands up and waves to her. She smiles at him and walks in our direction. “Oi, Rafaela. Você está sempre maravilhosa,” he greets her in Portuguese while kissing her cheek. Rafaela is a tall, elegant blonde wearing a skin-tight black dress. “May I introduce you to my friends? Roy Van Gatt.” Roy stands up to shake her hand, but Rafaela gives him a cheek kiss instead. “Roy, this is Rafaela, one of the bridesmaids.”
Roy is radiant. “Pleasure to meet you, Rafaela. Welcome to New York.”
Rafaela’s eyes land on me—I’m sitting in a comfortable armchair, glass in hand, feigning a distant air.
“And this guy over here living in another planet is Alexander Van Dieren.”
I have no choice but to look at her and politely
smile. “Hi, Rafaela. Nice to meet you.”
Her face beams with a big grin, but I don’t feel like standing up. Paulo invites her to sit in his armchair right next to mine.
“So, Rafaela, what brought you to New York?” asks Roy, already delighted with her.
“A seminar about lipogenesis and lipoplasty.”
We raise our eyebrows.
“Rafaela is a plastic surgeon in Rio,” explains Paulo. “Do you know how old she is?” Rafaela starts to chuckle. “Tell them.”
“How old do you guys think I am?” she asks, her face quite amused.
“Well, it’s hard to tell.” Obviously, Roy’s the first to play. “Women in Brazil take great care of themselves. Hmm… If I may try, I’ll say thirty-four?”
Paulo and Rafaela burst into laughter.
“Nope. Far, far away,” replies Paulo, still laughing. “Tell them, Rafaela.”
“I’m forty.”
“Wow. Unbelievable. Just like Alexander,” adds Roy, looking intently at me. He’s expecting some sort of reaction on my part, a laugh, a grin, some funny joke. But I’m not in the mood for any of it.
“Oh, really?” Rafaela takes over. “You don’t look forty at all. What do you do to keep your skin so young and free of wrinkles?”
I don’t do anything in particular, but since a doctor is asking, I feel like I have to give an interesting answer. “Well, I just try to eat a clean diet. I avoid sweets, I don’t smoke, I exercise, I drink a lot of water…”
“And a lot whiskey,” interrupts Paulo.
This time, we all break out in laughter.
“And a lot of whiskey,” I confirm. Rafaela smiles at me, wetting her lips. “And you? What do you do to keep yourself so young?”
“Well…” she lets the word trail off, while crossing her legs. “Exactly what you do, plus a couple of other things...”
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