5

ARLO’S POV

“It’s you, isn’t it?” She asked, pointing at me.

Again, I clenched my teeth in annoyance. 

I wanted to see Hawk right away and split his jaw with an angry punch, because he fucking knew what made me upset and dangerous, and yet, he brought me a woman who would remind me of who I was raised to believe I was.

This was one of the reasons I always asked Hawk to double-check the women before pimping them to me, because I didn’t want any woman to say exactly what she just said to me. It was something that always triggered me and drove me into violence, which was why I did everything possible to avoid it.

The last time someone, a man, made that statement at a winery, I broke his front tooth.

Never have I laid my hands on a woman, and I never wanted to, but then again, I knew that I was capable of such violence if triggered. There was nothing that brought out the beast in me than being reminded that I was a bastard.

An illegitimate abandoned son of the Bronson family.

It was a fucking stigma that I had had to carry on my shoulders for years, like a freaking badge. It had made my life difficult in more ways than anyone could ever imagine. I had entered rooms that made people make fun of me rather than respect me.

Simply because they know that I wasn’t a legitimate son.

But even in that anger and stigmatization, I had risen above it all and given myself a better life. I have spent painful and excruciating years building a future that no one could reach, not even the same man who made the world see me as a bastard.

Now, everyone has been forced to respect and obey me, because my presence now commands respect, authority, power, and immeasurable wealth.

However, some unfortunate people always have a way of release the beast in me by using that term on me, and I always ensured that they lived to regret it. Women, on the other hand, who I only have to deal with during sex, have been careful enough not to say anything like that.

Hawk always ensured that he never brought a woman that would provoke me to rage and violence.

But then again, I wasn’t upset with her.

I was livid and hurt, majorly because I felt like my manhood and ego had been trampled upon, but it wasn’t to her; it was to Hawk. If she was another woman, I probably would have grabbed her wrist in anger and warned her never to say such words to me again, but I just couldn’t do that to her.

Maybe it had something to do with her being completely different, right from last night.

“It’s you!” She said again.

There was this horror and innocence in her eyes, and something else I couldn’t place.

Looking at her, I felt lost in the ocean of her gaze. There was something about her that made her so delicate and precious, way more than what I have noticed in other women.

Something about her that reared up the possessive side of me rather than the beastly side, and the only person I had ever felt protective towards was my mother.

No woman deserved that, so why was I feeling that way towards her?

I recognized her body from last night, and even though most of our intimacy was in the dimly lit hotel room, I could still tell every part of her and what they felt like, because I memorized every part of her being. 

For other women, it was always transactional and business-like. Once morning came, I usually just paid them off and they left. 

No strings attached.

No names.

No contact afterwards.

Nothing at all.

But this time around, she had woken up before me. I had to accept that last night made me sleep peacefully, which was something I hadn’t enjoyed in a really long time, which was why I got so carried away in sleep that she woke up before me.

Instead of quietly getting dressed and asking for her money, or as some women would have done; steal whatever they could lay their hands on and disappeared, she was screaming and shedding tears in fear and horror.

It made me sick as a man to see the look of regret in her eyes.

This was never my aim when I take my women. I never conquered any woman against their wish. Hawk always brought them willingly to me, and at the end of the game, everyone was satisfied with each other, and as soon as they stepped out of the door, we never knew each other.

But she was making me feel as though I had forced my way into her.

God damn!

She was sweet, tender, tight, and wet.

She was nothing like I had ever experienced. Each thrust had made me lose myself to her completely. It was as though the night would never end, and when I had climaxed, it was glorious. I relieved in the moment before I eventually drifted to sleep.

But to see her react this way right now made me feel sour.

I also understood how badly this could end for me.

What if she went out there and told everyone that I forced my way on her? I couldn’t deny that I knew that she looked tipsy last night, and yet, I went ahead to have sex with her. She could allege that I took advantage of her vulnerability even though she walked into my hotel room of her own accord, and it would ruin every single thing I have taken years of sweat, hard work, and tears to build.

It would increase my stigmatization.

Of course, it sounded like what a bastard could do.

I didn’t want that, but at the same time, I didn’t know what to do.

For the first time in my entire life, I didn’t know how to handle a horrified, crying woman who just lost her virginity to me.

“Yes, I am,” I admitted plainly.

At least, maybe I could start from there.

Then I opened my mouth to explain myself and the situation of things to her so that she would calm down, but I was interrupted by a loud banging on the door.

They hit the door so hard that it almost made her pass out in fear, especially when we began to hear desperate yelling outside.

“Paparazzi…open the door! We know you are in there!”