by Fawn Bailey
"R-Ryker?" she stuttered, and at the sound of her voice, my cock jumped to attention.
I was thick in seconds, swollen with the thought of her. How I'd taken her sweet virgin pussy while Ophelia watched. How tight, wet, fucking needy she'd been for me. What a little whore she turned into every time I was near her after that. She wasn't an innocent little virgin, oh no. She was a slut for me, and she couldn't fucking stay away.
"Ginger."
It wasn't a question but a statement, declaring her presence to the world.
I half hoped she'd notice my sizeable erection, that the thick precum leaking off my tip made a stain on my trousers. God, I wanted to pull her on top of me, let my hands explore her sinful body. I wanted to listen to her moaning, her bee-stung lips wrapped around my lobe while she moaned in my ear.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"What the fuck do you mean?" I growled, incapable of much else.
Her mere presence filled me with need, the simple, primal instinct to fuck her making me hyper-aware of everything around us.
The way her hard nipples struggled against her tight little top.
The scent of her pussy. I fucking knew she was wet for me.
She reached up to her collarbone, her fingers enticing me by tracing her shoulder.
"I live here," I told her. "This is my place. What are you doing here, lost little lamb?"
I could see she was hurting, and the pang of regret hit a second too late. When she shrank back, I felt guilty as hell. Instead of addressing it, I cleared my throat and stared at her with my eyebrows knitted together.
"Well?" I demanded.
"I-I'm looking for someone," she managed to get out. "They call him L'Imperatore. Maybe you've heard of him?"
I couldn't help but laugh out loud.
"Come on," I said, motioning for her to join me. "We need to talk."
11
Ginger
I couldn't believe my eyes. My whole body shook at the sight of him, and when his fingers found mine, gently wrapping around my hand, I couldn't fight the emotions flowing through my body.
Ryker Marino in the flesh.
When I saw him after all that time, I found myself wondering why I'd pulled away in the first place. He looked so much different, yet I would recognize him anywhere.
His ink-black hair had grayed, and he looked older, more experienced.
I followed him blindly as he led me through the house, until we reached an office.
He sat on the edge of his desk, and I sat in front of it in a plushy chair. I couldn't stop drinking him in, addicted to the feeling of being close to him again.
My pussy was wet. I realized it with an embarrassing flush of my cheeks, and judging by Ryker's knowing smile, he probably knew about it too.
"I assume you're looking for your sister," he said, and I nodded.
"How do you know Astor?"
"She… works for me," he replied roughly. "Has for a few years now."
"What are you doing here, Ryker?" I whispered. "You're supposed to be… somewhere else. Are you following me?"
"Yes," he replied, then chuckled after a short pause. "Not that I've had much luck until today. You're a hard woman to track down, Ginger Adley."
I flushed. He knew my last name, so surely he knew the story as well. He knew what Astor had done.
"Why did you give her a job?" I asked him. "You knew what she'd done!"
"No," he replied calmly. "She gave me a different last name, and I didn't know what she'd done until today. I had no idea you were sisters."
"None?" I raised my eyebrows. "She looks like me."
"Maybe when you're in the same room. Her hair is darker." He stared at his hands clasped in his lap. "I told myself she didn't look like you at all. In fact, I tried really fucking hard to convince myself she was nothing like you."
"Why?"
"Because, Ginger, I’ve seen you in every fucking woman since the day you left me. I looked for you in their faces, in their fucking soul. And no woman could ever compare."
I didn't know what to say to that. All I could manage to do was swallow thickly and avert my eyes. I couldn't look at him, couldn't bear the weight of his gaze, knowing how much he knew about me now.
Surely he hated me, judged me for what I had done to Astor.
"You know what I did, don't you?" I whispered, raising my eyes to his.
"You haven't done anything wrong, Ginger," he replied, though his eyes were filled with emotion.
"But you know everything, don't you? You know she went to the mental institution because of me."
"No," he said firmly. "She was admitted because she was fucking crazy. She burned down your family home. She killed your parents. She killed her own twin."
"I know," I whispered, tears pricking my eyes. "I know. I really thought so."
"You don't anymore?" he asked me gently.
I just waved my hand in the air, unable to tackle that topic just yet.
"We'll talk about it later. But Ginger… you're in danger."
"So are you. I think she's going to kill again."
"Why?"
"The asylum. You didn't hear about that?"
"What about it?" His brows furrowed, knitting together in worry.
"It burned down. Just like our house did. A woman died, one of the people who ran the place. It's nothing but rubble now."
"When?"
"A few years ago," I admitted. "I think Astor did it, after she escaped. She asked a family friend for money and came to Italy. And that's how she found you."
"Does she know about the situation?" he asked, looking deep into my eyes.
"What situation?" I replied, playing like I didn't know.
But God, I wanted to hear him say it.
"About us." His eyes blazed with silent fire.
Us. That word sounded so good coming from his lips. The desire to stand up, to go between his legs and kiss those lips I used to know so well, consumed me. I barely managed to stop myself.
"I don't know. She never mentioned you to me."
"I knew she had sisters," he admitted. "She mentioned you sometimes, but both of you. I knew she has a twin."
"Had," I corrected him bitterly. "Had a twin."
A silence lay upon the room, and I stared at my hands awkwardly.
I wanted nothing else than for him to scoop me up in his arms, carry me to the bedroom and show me all the things I had been missing. But I couldn't say it out loud, not even if I tried. My mouth was firmly shut, and my own conscience prevented me from saying a word.
"Ginger," Ryker spoke up. "There's something you should know."
I looked up at him, surprised to find regret in his eyes.
"I… before I knew you were related," he started. "Before I knew anything, I tried to find you. I've been searching for you for so long. And I still don't know where you were."
He waited, but I didn't say anything, and he sighed before going on.
"I've only been with one woman since you," he admitted.
"How nice," I snapped. "How nice of you."
"It was Astor. I didn't know. I swear to God, Ginger, I didn't know who she was."
I stood up, feeling like my head was going to explode. God, I wanted to kill him. Intense rage and sadness bubbled in the pit of my stomach, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to hit him or burst out in tears.
"I tried so hard to get you back," he said. "But you were running, Ginger. You kept running away from me, tesoro."
"Don't call me that. Don't you ever call me that again."
"Please, Ginger." He reached out for me. "Please, let me make it up to you."
"No!" I snarled, pulling out of his embrace. "Don't you understand, Ryker? You can never make this better."
"Why not?" he asked, following me as I paced the room. "I'll do fucking anything, tesoro. Anything you fucking want, just for you, my pretty little girl. My treasure. My Ginger."
"Not yours," I growled. "I was never your
s!"
"You were," he insisted. "That night in the garden, with Ophelia watching. You fucking promised me anything I wanted, Ginger. Was that a goddamn lie? Was it all a lie?"
I stayed stubbornly quiet, not wanting to satisfy him with an answer.
"I know it wasn't," he said heatedly. "I know how you felt that summer, Ginger. Why did you leave me? Why did you fucking run?"
I didn't answer.
The frustration, the tension in the room was palpable, but neither of us acknowledged it. Not until Ryker groaned and grabbed a glass off the table, smashing it against the wall with a growl.
Everything stood still. I stared at him, my eyes wide, my hands shaking.
He wouldn't hurt me. He'd never hurt me. He cares too much… just like I do.
He approached me then, standing only a few steps away as his eyes turned to mine.
"Why did you leave, Ginger?" he asked again. And that time, when I opened my mouth, the words came pouring out.
"I couldn't stay. I couldn't face the truth. The betrayal. What I'd done to my sister, to Astor. It was always on my mind, and it turned me into a different person. A quiet girl scared of every fucking shadow. Do you even understand what that's like, Ryker?"
He just kept glaring at me, not saying a word. I closed the distance between us, our lips close enough to touch.
"I betrayed her," I went on. "She was in that place because of me, and I never even checked up on her, Ryker. Never, not once. I wanted her to rot in that asylum for what she'd done. And look at her now. She found you. Whether she knew or not, she took you from me."
"She didn't," he said hoarsely. "She could never take me from you."
I just shook my head, my gaze downcast.
"She did," I muttered. "She stole you."
He touched my hand with a single finger, the touch like a jolt of electricity through my whole body. Our eyes connected for the briefest of moments, and I shivered before putting my hands over my face to hide my emotions.
"Ginger," he begged. "Just fucking look at me, please."
"No," I said in my smallest voice.
"She could never take me from you."
His words filled me with shame, and I was angry at my sister again. Yes, it was justified this time, but once again she was the root of the problem between Ryker and me.
I'd left because I thought he could never love me knowing what I'd done to Astor.
But he'd slept with her, maybe even loved her. Did he know then what she'd done? Did he forgive her?
I never had the chance to be forgiven. And the only person I could blame for it was me.
He took my chin between his fingers. "Look at me. Please, tesoro. Please."
I felt so small, so fragile when he held me, like he could break me with a snap of his fingers.
Slowly, I looked up through lashes laden with tears.
His eyes were just as emotional as mine, and we stared at one another for a long time before I let out a choked sob.
"Ginger, I could never hurt you, tesoro. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for what I've done. I should have waited, should have tried to find you. I should have—"
"No," I whispered. "Maybe this is how it's meant to be."
"What?" His brows knit together. "It's not, Ginger. It's meant to be you and me, together. Always. Can't you see that? Even after all this time, you still can't see?"
“See what?” I muttered, my eyes on his.
“That we belong with each other,” he said, his lips dangerously close to mine. “That you're meant to be fucking mine, Ginger.”
“N-No,” I lied through gritted teeth.
He leaned in closer, whispering right against my lips.
“Well, in that case, tesoro, you’re nothing but a pretty little fool."
12
Ginger
He crashed against me, his lips finding mine and sucking them into his mouth. I was helpless, overcome by desire. I could barely feel my legs, my knees like Jell-O, threatening to give out if I let him kiss me like that for much longer.
His hand found its way behind my back, toying with the hem of my sweater, pulling it down and then slipping his fingers under the fabric until they met my hot skin, touching every single spot he'd touched all those years ago. Shivers traveled down my spine as he grabbed my ass with his free hand, hoisting me up. My back was against the wall, but my pussy was firmly pressed against the hardness in his trousers I'd admired only an hour ago when he walked into the room.
God, has it really only been an hour? I asked myself, self-conscious. This man was truly fatal for me. A mere hour in his company and I was a wreck, needy for him, desperate for his feverish touch. It seemed like we were both ailed by the same fever, however, his hand leaving my back and greedily burying itself between my legs.
My skirt was riding up, exposing inch after inch of my lacy red panties, soaked through the front. He touched me there and looked into my eyes with a smirk when his fingers came away wet.
"Still such a little whore. I fucking knew you'd never forget this."
"Fuck you," I growled at him. "You don't know anything. I hate you."
"You hate me?" he whispered in my ear, his fingers forcefully pushing my panties to the side.
I was exposed, my pussy dripping at the feeling of cool air on it. My breath caught in my throat as I struggled to breathe.
"Tell me," he demanded. "Tell me how much you hate me, tesoro."
The old nickname still worked like a charm, and I grew weaker at the sound of it. I wanted to submit to him, to let him have every inch, every hole, every kiss, everything I had left to give. The desire was overpowering, but the thought of what I'd come to do was making me at least try and think with a straight head.
"Ryker, stop," I breathed. "We need to talk about someone."
"Unless it's you and me, I don't currently give a shit," he growled as he nibbled my skin.
"Please, Ryker," I begged. "I just need to tell you about A… As—fuck! Oh God!"
His fingers had found their way into my pussy. While his thumb toyed with my clit, he thrust into me with the other four fingers on his right hand.
My pent-up tension dissolved into nothing as my crumpled in the first orgasm I'd had since the last time with him. He'd had every single one of my orgasms. He owned me, and I was tired of fighting it.
"Look at you, tesoro. Do you always come apart so easily?"
Before I could answer, he'd wrapped my legs around his waist and made me hold on to his shoulders as he pulled me away from the wall. I gasped as he carried me up the beautiful staircase in the front hall, down a gorgeous marble hallway, and into an intricately designed bedroom. A large painting hung over the bed, one that looked too striking to be just a street artist, but I didn't know a thing about art, so I swallowed the remarks on the tip of my tongue as he sat me down on the bed.
"I've waited so long for this," he murmured, and my cheeks flushed as I felt his gaze on me. "I want to watch you strip, Ginger. I'm going to examine every inch of your body. I want to know all the ways you've changed since I last saw you."
I stared up at him with wide eyes before he rounded the bed like a predator going in for the kill.
Except I was a willing victim. I wanted him to have me. To rip my clothes open with his claws and feast on my body, which had belonged to him since the moment he first held me in his arms.
"You're going to strip for me," he told me. "And I'm just going to sit the fuck back and watch you, tesoro."
He helped me up, and I tried to straighten my skirt and the fluffy sweater I was wearing that kept riding up, exposing tender inches of skin begging to be touched.
"Don't be shy, Ginger," he growled. "I'm going to see every inch of you in a second."
He put on music with a remote on the nightstand, then sat in a plush velvet armchair by the bay window. He'd opened the curtains a few moments earlier, and I felt brazen in front of the window, knowing what I was going to do. Anyone could peek inside, see what I was
doing. How bad I was being. But for once I didn't care.
"Strip," he ordered in a low, throaty voice, and I touched my stomach tentatively.
He made me feel self-conscious and like the most beautiful woman in the world at the same time. The peculiar mix of anxiety and the overwhelming need to please him forced me to start lifting the hem of my sweater, teasing him with a glance of my pale skin underneath.
He sat with his legs spread open, his elbows on the armrest of the chair, his eyes never leaving mine.
I started swaying in rhythm with the music, moving the fabric higher and higher. His eyes were on mine, though I could tell how tempted he was to look lower. But he seemed to be enjoying this tease, judging by the swollen bulge in his trousers. My mouth watered at the sight of it.
I pulled my sweater off, my body shaking under his thunderous gaze. Now I was just wearing the red tartan miniskirt and a set of black-and-red lingerie. I was just grateful it matched.
"Fucking show me more," he grunted, and I reached for my skirt, slipping it over the curve of my ass and letting it pool around my feet.
Ryker inhaled sharply, his eyes following every move as I turned around in front of him. I hooked my fingers under the sides of my thong, then bent over in front of him, feeling more brazen than ever before. He made my inner slut come out and play, and I couldn't get enough of the wildness, of the inhibitions I was letting go of so easily that night.
"What do you want first?" I purred over the gentle sound of the music. "Tits… or ass?"
He growled out loud, his actions so primitive I half expected him to jump me any second.
I didn't wait for him to answer, toying with the straps of my bra before lowering them slowly. The cups were semi-sheer, with embroidered red roses on the black mesh fabric. I finally removed the bra, my tits bouncing just a little as the fabric landed on the floor.
Then I reached for my thong again, turning around and enticing him as I played with the thin strips of fabric. But Ryker wasn't having it.