He had taken the photo casually.
He had kept it obsessively.
"Jesus," he muttered under his breath.
And now she was in the next wing of the house. In his brother's bed. Married to Luca. Carrying his last name. Wearing his ring. Being fucked by him.
His hand drifted downward to his cock, slow at first, almost absent-minded.
He exhaled sharply, eyes closing.
He imagined her hands instead of his own. Imagined her mouth forming his name instead of Luca's. Imagined her on top of his cock, bouncing on top of him.
"Bianca…" he breathed.
This was his private torment.
Under the same roof as her, he was never at peace. Every shared dinner. Every passing touch in a hallway. Every accidental brush of her perfume in the air. It wound him tighter and tighter until he felt like a live wire waiting to snap.
He hated Luca for having her.
The worst part was knowing she would never look at him the way she looked at his brother. She played her role flawlessly.
But sometimes…
