3. Screaming His Name

"Welcome home, Anny," Adriano murmured, his voice dripping with quiet arrogance as he brushed past her, the heat of his body lingering in the doorway like a taunt. 

His composure was infuriatingly intact, not a single hair out of place, not even a flicker of guilt in those dark, knowing eyes. Anny scrambled backward, her trembling legs barely carrying her up the stairs as she fled the kitchen. Her heart was a trapped bird, its frantic wings beating a desperate rhythm against the cage of her ribs, each frantic beat a treacherous reminder of how close she had come to surrendering, to begging, to letting him take everything. 

She slammed her bedroom door, pressing her spine against the wood as if the flimsy barrier could lock out the wildfire he'd ignited in her blood. The silence of the room offered no comfort, only space for her mind to replay every second of what had almost happened downstairs.

Midnight had long swallowed the house in silence and sleep refused to visit her. She lay rigid beneath the sheets, staring at the ceiling, her mind a feverish carousel of forbidden images. She didn't hear her mother return home. She only registered her presence when she called her for dinner. Anny forced her voice steady, declining with a lie about exhaustion and a lack of appetite, when in truth hunger of an entirely different sort consumed her.

Thirst clawed at her throat, but the water bottle stood empty on the nightstand that provided a cruel excuse to descend back into the lion’s den. She padded downstairs reluctantly, but the moment she crossed the threshold into the kitchen, the memories rushed back with obscene clarity. The ghost of his touch crawled over her skin. She grabbed a fresh bottle in hurry, her fingers trembling and fled back up the stairs as though the room itself were on fire.

When she was walking past her mother and Adriano’s room, she heard some noise from inside. It wasn't a voice, but the rhythmic creak of the mattress, the wet slap of flesh against flesh and then her mother's voice, shredded by lust. "Oh God, yes… fuck me harder, baby… don’t stop…"

Anny's fingers curled into fists at her sides. Her mother's cries and guttural screams of pleasure, each one lancing through Anny like hot shards of glass. A torrent of pure, unadulterated envy flooded Anny’s veins. 

"Lucky bitch!" she hissed under her breath, the words a venomous whisper. She added another curse, filthier than the first and stormed into her own room, slamming the door hard. 

Her blood was a boiling cocktail of rage and acute, aching need. She threw herself onto the bed, her glare burning a hole into the stark white ceiling, but the imagination of Adriano, his hands, his mouth, his body, ravaging her mother, completely undid her.

“At first, he turned me on and left me craving for him. Then he goes and has sex with her! I’m not going to let him touch me again and turn me into a pathetic, desperate thing. I won't allow myself to look like a fool anymore,” she seethed, the thought of a betrayal that stung worse than any physical wound.

But even as the resolution formed on her lips, it dissolved like smoke. She couldn’t take his thoughts out of her mind. The rest of the night stretched before her in an agonizing loop of evening’s encounter. Her body ached with an emptiness that was his alone to fill. 

She rolled onto her stomach, then her back, then her side, the ache between her thighs refusing to relent. She needed him. All of him. The realization landed with brutal finality. A new resolve, harder and more dangerous, crystallized from the molten chaos.

"I won't stop until I have him. All of him. Right now, I don't give a fuck about my mother," Anny whispered into the darkness, her voice dangerously steady. 

Rosie hadn't cared about her or her late father, not really. Why should she suffer in silence while her mother devoured the one thing she craved? The moral calculus was child's play. The justification was a poison, sweet on the tongue. 

"Besides, who's going to tell her? Adriano clearly wants the same. What she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?" she mused aloud, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. “Wow! I might sound like a horrible child. But well, I can’t help it. I literally need him buried deep inside me or I'll lose my fucking mind."

Propped against her pillows, Anny caught her reflection in the full-length mirror across from the bed. The sight of her own wild-eyed, panting image was the final catalyst. She was a portrait of untamed hunger.

With a slow, deliberate motion, she peeled her top over her head, baring her full breasts. Her nipples were taut, coral and aching, standing at full attention as if begging for a mouth. A fresh wave of heat washed over her. She desperately wished that Adriano could see her like this, sprawled, exposed, dripping with need he had created.

She caught one stiff peak, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. The sensation ripped through her like lightning and she gasped, her spine arching off the mattress, "Fuck!"

Her pussy responded immediately, slicking her inner thighs with evidence of her desperation. The man who had done this to her, reduced her to a writhing, needy creature was next door finishing inside her mother while she was left to burn. The injustice made her touch bolder.

She imagined it was Adriano’s mouth, latching onto her breast. The fantasy was so vivid her throat clicked as she swallowed a moan. Eyes squeezed shut, she pinched both nipples hard, twisting with just the right edge of pain and groaned. Her breasts had always been exquisitely sensitive and the sharp pleasure-pain detonated straight downward. Her cunt clenched around nothing, weeping anew. She pressed her thighs together, grinding them in search of friction, but the seam of her shorts offered pitiful relief. 

Frustrated, she shoved the shorts down. Her panties followed, leaving her naked and spread open, her throbbing sex exposed to the empty room. She traced one finger up her slick slit, parting her folds with practiced ease and released a shuddering sigh when she grazed her swollen clit. Her head tipped back, mouth falling open.

"Urghh… ahhh… f-fuck…" Her fingers began working in chasing the pressure that coiled ever tighter in her belly. "Adriano… oh fuck, Adriano…"

She imagined him feasting on her, his perfect face buried in her folds, lapping and sucking her essence as she writhed against his mouth.

"Fuck! Oh my God! Adriano! Ahh!" Her fingers moved faster as she chased her peak with single-minded desperation. 

Her imagination stripped him bare, the sculpted planes of his chest, the trail of dark hair, the thick, heavy weight of his cock standing proud and ready. She imagined those strong, commanding hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, driving into her with strokes so deep they threatened to split her in two. She imagined him taking her to heaven and leaving her shattered on the other side.

She pinched her clit and a nipple simultaneously, a brutal combination. She was right there, hovering on the knife-edge of ecstasy. Her orgasm slammed into her with the force of a tidal wave, ripping a raw, keening moan from her throat. Her back arched, her inner walls spasmed around nothing and wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her until she collapsed, boneless and gasping.

"Shit…" The word left her on a trembling exhale.

She lay there in the aftermath, her hand drifting lazily down her sternum, her chest still heaving as she fought to catch her breath. A satisfied, dreamy smile curved her lips. That had been, without question, the most devastating orgasm she had experienced in a long time. 

Then she heard it. A creak, definitive sound of a door hinge.

Anny’s eyes flew open, her post-orgasmic languor evaporating into a blizzard of sheer, undiluted horror. The bedroom door which she had neglected to even fully close in her fevered rush was swinging inward with agonizing slowness. A fatal, damning mistake. She choked on a scream, her body curling into itself, arms crossing over her bare breasts and legs pressing together in a desperate, futile bid for modesty. 

"Fuck!" she gasped in horror. 

Adriano stood there. His silhouette filled the space with an imposing stillness, one shoulder propped casually against the frame as though he had all the time in the world. His gaze traveled over her with excruciating slowness, taking in her flushed skin, her tangled hair, her desperate attempt to cover herself and the unmistakable sheen of her arousal still glistening on her inner thighs. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with something dark and ravenous.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a thud. 

Her mind was a shattered mirror of panicked thoughts. “How long had he been there? Did he hear every desperate cry? Every moan of his name? Oh, damn him! He knows everything.”

"Wh… What are you doing in my room at this hour?" Anny forced herself to speak, stammering badly. 

Anny had never been the type to feel shame about her desires. She had always owned her sexuality with a brazen confidence that left others flustered. But now she was naked, exposed and glistening with the evidence of an orgasm she had reached while screaming the name of the man who was standing right before her like a wolf who had just cornered its prey.