Obsession by Lena Little
1
Carlito
I slam on the brakes and white-knuckle grip the steering wheel of my matte black Lamborghini as I fishtail through the intersection. Every muscle in my body flexes, my abs clenching tight as I will myself from slamming my head into the steering wheel…or worse.
My car comes to a stop in the crosswalk as the girl who got my head, and my car, spinning rushes toward me. She’s clearly running from someone and rage instantly courses through my veins, a silent promise to myself and her that she’ll never be afraid of anyone, ever again.
I stagger as I step from the car, trying to regain my balance after an unintended maneuver that would make the scenes out of the Fast and Furious franchise look like child’s play.
“You’ve gotta help me!” she cries out in English as she stops dead in her tracks her body folding in half as she bends down to catch her breath, her hands finding her thighs. As if she had to ask in the first place. Although I’ve never seen this girl before I know unequivocally I’d do anything for her. Anything.
Her eyes dart right and then left, her entire body shifting from side to side as she searches all corners of the darkness surrounding the traffic intersection. Her hazel eyes dance all over the landscape but refuse to land on me. If I wasn’t so damn shocked at this whole situation, so rooted to the ground and not wanting to spook her, I’d run straight at her and take hold of her face in my hands and demand, order her to look at me.
She looks back over her shoulder and then rushes toward me, her Minnie Mouse Jansport backpack threatening to fall at any second from the single shoulder it’s thrown over.
Just before she reaches me she conjures up what undoubtedly looks to be her last ounce of strength and throws herself in my arms, her jump sending her backpack to the ground. “Please keep him away from me,” she pleads and I know in that minute someone will die tonight in Rome. I don’t know his name or anything about him…other than he scared this girl and pushed her to the point of exhaustion in her successful attempt to escape him. And he will pay for what he did. With his life.
My big hands engulf her tiny arms as her raven hair falls onto my forearms sending chills up my spine. She lifts her chin sheepishly, looking up at me in doe-eyed wonder, her innocence conveyed with a single look…and it reminds me of exactly everything I’m not. Which in this moment is exactly what she needs me to be. Me.
There’s a sheen of tears in her eyes and it stabs me in the heart like a dagger. I grind my back teeth together to try and stop my entire body from shaking with rage. It’s pointless.
But my rage to destroy whoever made her feel this way is locked in a game of tug of war with my lust for this perfect little creature that literally just fell in my lap. And that’s almost exactly where she is as she wraps her legs around my waist and climbs me almost as if I’m a jungle gym at a kid’s school.
As she buries her head in my chest I bury my nose in her hair, taking in her fruity scent. My eyes close as I inhale her perfect aroma, but when my lids open again I can’t stop my eyes from sliding down her back, checking out that sexy little ass that’s begging for me to grab and hold her up, give her support at a time she clearly needs it most. But I can’t do it. It’s not right and I know I wouldn’t be able to stop there. One touch and I’d need more, a lot more. All of her right here and now.
Instead, I wrap my arms around her tiny frame and she leans back into my protective embrace. Her chest heaves and that tiny little tank top she’s trying to pass for a proper shirt heaves with it, the low-cut neckline showing off her sexy little tits that defy the laws of gravity. How they sit that high on her petite figure is beyond me, and immediately I pull her in close to me. Just the thought of another man seeing what I’m seeing, getting a look at what has instantly become mine, hardens my jaw. It’s even ridiculous to have such a thought at two in the morning on a weekday in the Italian capital, but considering she’s running from someone it’s not inconceivable that I’m going end what troubles her right here and now, assuming whoever it is is ready to fight like a man and not take out whatever grievances or self-inflicted problems he created for himself on a creature that’s rail-thin and barely has enough clothing on her back to survive the night.
My eyes dart left and then right, seeing only darkness. “Show your face!” I demand, my gravely voice issuing the challenge to the next body I’m going to add to Rome’s ever-growing homicide count.
Nothing comes back. “Let’s see you fight like a real man, you fucking pussy!” I roar, questioning this bastard’s manhood, trying to draw him out.
Nothing but crickets.
Carefully I carry this angel toward the passenger side of my car, the scissor door rising when the hidden sensor embedded just outside the keyhole locks onto my retina, scanning it and confirming it’s me. If there’s one thing I know it’s security, and this girl is going to be safe from here on out. That’s a promise I’ll deliver on every second of every day until the end of eternity.
Gently I set her in the passenger seat and strap the seatbelt across her lap and then chest, calling on every bit of willpower I have within me not to brush the back of my hand against those perfect little breasts. But that’s not who I am. I’m not the kind of man who takes advantage of a woman. Ever. Especially not when she’s found herself caught in a rough patch. And this girl is clearly trying to fight her way out of a briar bush that life’s throw at her right about now.
As soon as I get her inside the car and the door shut my first thought is how I’m going to get her back to my house and past all my security without any of the men that work for me laying eyes on her. Just the thought of another man looking at her makes me want to rip the five-hundred year old olive trees from my backyard and heave them into the eye of any man who even glances in her direction.
“Fuck,” I exhale as I walk around to the driver’s side door. This possessiveness is completely unlike me, unlike any way I’ve ever felt. I have no clue where it’s come from or how in the hell to handle it. In my thirty-nine years, I’ve never experienced it. I’m a businessman, albeit an underworld boss. Investments, like people, often come and go. You can never grow attached to anyone or anything, or else you’re setting yourself up to get let down, or worse yet to get put underground as in six feet under. Permanently.
Then why is it that I know without a shadow of a doubt that this girl is my future, and that I’m all in when it comes to her? I’d lie in front of a speeding train for her. Throw myself in front of a nine-millimeter Beretta just to keep her safe, and then cloak her body with mine as whoever it might be unloading the clip in my body as I make sure not a single ounce of lead finds its way through me to so much as harm a hair on her head.
And why? Why do I feel this way that I can’t describe? Why is it that I want this prick to show his face so I can make him feel a million times the pain he’s put her through, and as soon as I do kneel down on the cold concrete and ask her to be my wife forever, and to never leave my side for so much as a split second. Does she even know that I wouldn’t allow it? I’m going to make sure she’s mine forever when I claim her, fill her with my seed over and over and over again, swelling her belly year after year as we celebrate the annual births of our children. I don’t know squat about kids, but I know I’m going to have a whole houseful with her. Her and only her.
I bend at the waist as my long strides close the distance to my door, but the few feet it takes to get there are anything but easy considering my dick is as hard as the volcanic rock used to build The Coliseum. I can feel the semen beading at the tip of my erection, my fluids dripping to get out of my body and into hers as I breed her, make her part of the family I never had. My balls feel swollen and heavy, aching to explode inside her and spray her womb with my spend as I fill her completely with my seed.
The driver’s side door locks onto my retina and instantly scans me, the door rising as my six foot five inch frame carefully sides into the sleek Italian sports car that damn near scrapes the roadway below it.
I can’t help but look over at her, her eyes already closed and her mouth open as she sleeps. She’s beyond exhausted and I take a quick moment before turning over the engine to marvel at this angel that God has sent me. I’ve never been one to believe in religion, luck, or fate…until all three suddenly make sense at the same time.
There’s no way…absolutely zero chance, I’ve seen this girl before. Without a doubt, she’s new to Rome. A girl this beautiful would stand out in a city of two point eight million people. She’d stand out like a diamond surrounded by ordinary stones in comparison to all the other women in the world.
The light from a nearby streetlamp catches from the side mirror and reflects back onto her face, causing her to glow like an angel. God, she looks so fucking soft. Everything about her is soft, especially that mouth that looks like bees have been taking turns stinging it an entire lifetime. Her lips are like two down pillows, everything about her fragile, and all I want is to protect her. I brush the back of a single calloused finger over her high cheekbone wondering if she’s even human. My dick jerks and her body responds almost as if on command, even though she’s facing away from me.
As her tiny body brings itself into somewhat of a protective ball I reach over and run my big mitt through her hair, my entire hand bigger than her head. The size difference between the two of us is almost laughable, but it makes perfect sense to me. I smile for the first time I can ever remember, knowing I’ve found the most incredible girl in the world and equally as important have the means to keep her as mine forever.
Does it have to be her choice to be with me? Absolutely. She has to decide of her own free will, but I’m going to spoil her rotten, show her she’s a princess and give her the life she deserves so she’ll want nothing more than to be mine forever.
And in order to do that I need to learn everything about her, to learn what makes her tick. And then I will be that everything, I will become that watch that she relies on, being as accurate as the oversized Panerai Luminor watch that hugs my thick wrist.
She’s clearly not from here, clearly not Italian. I need to know where she was born, her favorite color, her favorite food, her favorite flavor of gelato…so I can give her all those things not only on her birthday but every day, making sure she never even needs to ask because the only thing that will trump her need for happiness is my need to make her happier than she’s ever been in her life.
I want to know what makes her laugh, so I can hear her giggle throughout the day. Giggle? What kind of effeminate word is that and how did it even enter my lexicon? What. The. Fuck. Is. She. Doing. To. Me?
And why does it feel so right?
I need to get inside that perfectly shaped head of hers and see what she’s thinking about every fucking minute of every day. Decipher her dreams and then deliver them to her on a platinum platter encrusted with Bulgari diamonds.
I’m going to know what she’s thinking before she even thinks it, and then come up with a way to give it to her before she even knows what she’s about to want. I’m going to live inside her and make the world outside her oyster.
I’m going to pull her in close, holding her tight on the couch as we watch old black and white Federico Fellini movies and toss popcorn into each other’s mouths. We’ll have Martin Scorsese movie marathons accompanied by marathon sex sessions.
I swallow hard knowing sex isn’t the right word. Sure once I get her used to my cock what we do in and out of the bedroom is going to be feral as fuck, but it’s going to mean a lot more than that. We’ll develop a connection, an unbreakable bond. And no one, and I mean no one including us, will be able to tell where one of us ends and the other begins. We’ll complete each other’s sentences and that’s just the start.
I grip the steering wheel with one hand and put the other on my forehead and squeeze tight before allowing my hand to run down the side of my face before I give the back of my neck a squeeze too. But no matter what I do it’s clear I’m failing completely when it comes to my attempts to gather some semblance of control. This girl has flipped my world upside down and there’s no righting the ship now. Good, because all I want is to leave this life behind and sail off into the Sicilian sunset with her, the wind at our backs.
Creating a life with her is what I want. Thoughts of the life I’ve lived for almost four decades are already starting to fade from my memory. I don’t want to remember any of this violence, this warring, this constant watching your back and trusting no one. It’s no way to live, and she’s woken me to the fact that despite how much money or how many physical things I have I haven’t been living at all. Soon, even thinking back to a time before this fateful meeting will be more than a chore. It will be impossible. My life starts right here, right now, because I finally found the one woman I can’t live without…even though she seems more like a girl than a woman.
I scratch my head and shelve the thought.
Out of nowhere I reach over and unfasten her seat belt, carefully lifting her over the center console and onto my lap, trying to find a spot to sit her where she won’t get speared by my erection. My trousers are trying their damnest to keep my thick inches at bay, but my dick is demanding to be inside her.
Something about having her on my lap makes me feel…complete. Complete in a way I’ve never felt before.
“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours princess? Tell me.” I gently stroke her hair, making a mental note of what size tiara she’d wear. She mumbles something incoherent.
“What’s that?”
But she just dozes back off.
“Rest, little one. I’m here to keep you safe now. You don’t have to worry about anything ever again,” I utter softly inside the soundproof and bulletproof walls of my Lambo.
Carefully I place her back in her seat and fasten her in. Just as I go to push the ignition button I notice her backpack lying on the road.
Not wanting to be even the ten feet from her that snatching up her backpack would require, I jerk myself from my seat before my brain can convince myself otherwise and throw my big body back into the night.
That’s when I hear it. The panting.
“Who’s there?”
“Listen, mister,” the voice replies. “This doesn’t involve you. Just give me back the girl and forget this ever happen. I have a lot of money. I can make this worth your while.”
“Money?” I growl, stepping toward the scattering of trees off the side of the road where this high-pitched voice is emanating from. “Trading another person’s safety for money? Trading a woman for money? Have you lost your fucking mind, you little scum sucking, bitch-ass pussy?”
“I’m sorry. Wait!” he calls out as I take off in a dead sprint for him, not caring who he might have with him or what weapons he could be carrying. This is clearly the man who put fear into my girl’s eyes and he will pay with his last breath.
I hear twigs snap underfoot and heavy breathing as I quickly close the distance. When I’m within two steps I dive at him, taking him to the ground and getting on top of him, pulverizing his face with my fists, being the weapon, the revenge, the young woman in my car needs…even if she didn’t ask for it. That’s what a real man does. He solves problems quietly and definitively and asks for no pats on the back.
And after I wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze the prick beneath me goes quiet, and he’s definitely not going to share the air with the rest of us on this planet ever again.
I stand, wiping one palm across the other, and then repeat the process before spitting on his corpse. That’s how I feel about men who harm women, even if it’s “only” verbal or mental. Words are weapons that cut deeper than knives more than most men could ever comprehend, but a simple fact that every woman knows.
And the one in my car, my woman, needs to know this piece of trash will never harm her again.
I whip out today’s burner phone from my pocket and dial the code for a cleaner, knowing my best guy will be here within fifteen minutes to cleanse the world of this corpse. Once the message is delivered I pull the sim card from the phone and destroy it under my shoe, smashing it with my heel multiple times imagining it’s the dead asshole’s face.
Normally after such a situation, I need to calm down and have a drink to take the edge off. Despite the number of times I’ve gotten my hands dirty in my life I still need to calm down after. Usually not from the act itself, but from the recent deceased’s actions leading up to what lead me to take such action.
This time it’s different. It’s almost as if I feel the need to be a big cat, a lion, and drag the corpse back to the car to show my pint-sized princess that I’ll do anything for her. For the first time in my life, I’m seeking approval, her approval…and I don’t know how I feel about that.
I shake my head from side to side, wiping my mind of the thought, and quickly make my way back to what’s important…her.
But when the scissor door swings open it’s like a knife to the chest…because she’s gone.
