Chapter 68 - SIXTY EIGHT

Chapter 68: Chapter SIXTY EIGHT

VINCENZO

I couldn’t sleep. Again.

Hearing her nightmares wasn’t helping it. This time it took exactly thirty minutes before her sobs stopped.

I stood from my bed, my movements silent as I paused outside Angel’s door.

I did this every night, checking on her after she cried herself to sleep. I needed to reassure myself that she was still breathing, still there, still safe.

I pushed the door open silently. The hinges were well-oiled—I’d made sure of that so I could check on her without waking her. I stood at the door.

She was asleep. It seemed she’d exhausted herself into unconsciousness as she always did.

My gaze lingered on her sleeping face and something that closely felt like warmth settled in my frosty heart.

Her hair was sprawled across the pillow in golden waves that caught the moonlight filtering through the curtains. She looked peaceful in a way she never did when she was awake.

Exactly the way I remembered her before the whole tragedy.

My gaze traced her delicate features that always reminded me of a painting, her perfect porcelain skin that looked doll-like, those lips that used to curve into smiles meant just for me.

She looked like my Angel again in sleep. Not the broken thing that flinched from my touch during the day, but the girl who used to run to me when I came home. The girl who used to curl up beside me on the couch while I worked.

I knew I should turn around and leave, to let her sleep in peace now that I knew that she was safe.

But I found myself moving closer instead. Drawn to her bedside like a moth to flame.

And that’s when she suddenly tossed around. My breath stilled.

Her nightgown had ridden up and twisted around her body. The thin cotton was bunched around her waist now, exposing everything below.

And she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it.

I stood rigid at the sight.

The position she’d curled into—on her side, one leg drawn up—gave me a perfect, unobstructed view of her ass. Round and firm and pale in the moonlight. Smooth skin that looked impossibly soft. The curve where her thigh met the swell of her behind.

And between her thighs, barely visible in the shadows, the hint of blonde curls.

My breath caught in my throat.

My cock stirred immediately. Hardened so fast it was almost painful. Blood rushed south with an urgency that made my head spin.

No. I let out a curse.

Staring at her like this was wrong. So incredibly wrong.

I was aware that I should look away and pretend I’d never seen this.

But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t tear my eyes away from the sight of her exposed body. My twisted mind kept absorbing every detail—the exact shade of her skin, the way her muscles curved, the shape of her, the—

’Stop.’

I clenched my hands into fists at my sides, using the pain to anchor myself.

She’s your daughter. Not by blood, but in every way that matters. You raised her. Protected her. This is wrong.

But my cock didn’t care about right or wrong. It was fully hard now, straining against my pajama pants, demanding attention.

And my mind—traitorous, twisted, broken—was already imagining things I had no right to imagine.

What she’d feel like. What she’d sound like. What she’d look like spread out beneath me instead of Damien. Whether she’d call me Daddy the way she called him, whether I could make her forget he ever existed, whether I could claim her so thoroughly she’d never think of him again.

’Stop. You sick fuck’

I forced myself to move. To back away from the bed. I put distance between myself and temptation.

My hands were shaking. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. My cock was aching, demanding relief I couldn’t give it. Not here. Not like this. Not while looking at her.

I stumbled out of her room, pulled the door closed behind me, and leaned against the wall in the hallway. My breath was ragged as I tried to get control of myself.

What the hell was wrong with me?

She was my little girl. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts.

I shouldn’t be getting hard from seeing her naked.

I went straight to my own room and locked the door behind me like I was locking out temptation.

Then, I walked straight into the bathroom and turned the shower on as cold as it would go.

I stripped off my clothes with shaking hands and stepped under the freezing spray.

The cold water hit my overheated skin like a slap. I expected it to shock the arousal out of my system. The chilled water should have made my erection wilt.

It didn’t.

I was still hard. Still aching. Still seeing her ass every time I closed my eyes.

’This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.’

I repeated it like a mantra while I gripped myself. I stroked hard and roughly, punishing myself for this reaction.

I tried desperately to think about anything else—the wife I’d locked away, the men I’d killed, the business problems I needed to solve.

But Angel’s face kept appearing in my mind. That body I had no right to want. That pussy in the video Damien had sent, covered in cum I wanted to replace with my own.

No. Fuck, no. What was I thinking?

But my hand kept moving. Kept stroking. Chasing the release even as my mind screamed at me to stop.

Images flooded through my head in rapid succession, each one worse than the last. Her ass just now, exposed and perfect in the moonlight. Her perfect body which I’d bathed in these past days, the softness of her skin.

The way her nipples strained against her nightgown this morning. The video of her pussy, wet and used. Her lips wrapped around a cock that should have been mine. Her body spread out on my bed instead of Damien’s. Her voice calling me Daddy while I fucked her. Her eyes looking up at me with worship instead of hatred.

I came with a groan. I had to bite back to keep from being heard. My release spilt over my hand in hot pulses, washing down the drain with the freezing water.

The shame hit immediately after. Crushing and absolute.

I leaned my forehead against the cold tile and tried to breathe through it.

When did I become the kind of man who fantasized about his daughter? The guilt was bitter.

Because that’s what she was. My daughter. Not by blood, but by choice. By years of raising her and protecting her and loving her in the only way I knew how.

And I’d just masturbated while thinking about her.

I stayed in the shower until the water ran ice cold and my skin was numb and my cock had finally softened completely. Until I’d punished myself enough that maybe I could pretend this never happened.

But I knew better.

I knew I’d remember this moment forever. It would haunt me worse than any of the men I’d killed because I knew I’d crossed some invisible line in my head that I could never uncross.

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