© SpeciaRotica 2025. All Rights Reserved.
Continued from Chapter 1...
Well, a wise man once said, "Lust had no limits, no shame and no regrets."
What started as an unspeakable act between Auntie Isadora and me had turned into something far more dangerous. We weren't sneaking around in guilt anymore. No. This was our new normal.
Every day was the same wicked routine. In the mornings, she'd brush past me in nothing but a robe, letting her fingers graze my skin, just enough to leave me craving more.
In the afternoons, she'd call me into her room, claiming she needed help with something, only to pull me into her arms the moment the door clicked shut.
And at night? We'd lose ourselves in sheets that smelled of sin, bodies tangled in the heat of forbidden passion.
It wasn't just love. It was something more.
But outside of that paradise, life had other plans.
I finally landed a job as a junior content writer at a private firm. A stable position with a real pay check. It was supposed to ground me, bring me back to reality. Instead, it led me straight into the path of someone I never should have met -- Rictor Vega.
Rictor was the kind of man you instinctively didn't trust. Tall, wiry, with sharp cheekbones and eyes that never quite looked friendly. He had a way of making you feel like he knew something you didn't, like he was always a step ahead, waiting for the right moment to strike.
At first, he played the role of the cool senior like giving me tips, cracking jokes, making himself seem approachable. But there was something in the way he carried himself that unsettled me. His voice was too smooth, his smiles never quite reached his eyes.
Then, one night over drinks, his mask slipped.
"Hey Tom, you ever do something so messed up that it keeps you up at night?" he asked, his fingers tracing the rim of his whiskey glass.
I raised an eyebrow. "You mean, like regret?"
He chuckled, low and humourless. "Nahhhh, I don't regret anything. I mean the kind of thing that makes your blood rush. That makes you feel alive, even when you know it shouldn't."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I just took a sip of my drink.
That's when he told me about his past. About the cartel. The blood on his hands. The years behind bars. And how, after getting out, he decided to "start fresh." But the way he said it? It didn't sound like a man who had changed.
It sounded like a man who had simply learned how to hide his true nature.
Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was how easy he was to talk to, but I made a mistake that night.
I told him about Auntie Isadora.
Not everything, just enough to make his eyes darken with interest.
"Wait a damn second," he muttered, leaning forward. "You mean Isadora Blake? The model?"
I nodded, already regretting saying her name.
Rictor's lips curled into a grin, one that made my skin crawl. "Well, shit. Damn you man! Ain't that something."
I tried to brush it off, but he wasn't letting it go.
"You know, I had a poster of her in my room when I was younger, and I fapped a lot while watching her" he mused, tapping his fingers against the table. "She was every man's fantasy back then. Hell, she still is."
Something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten.
I forced a laugh. "Yeah, well. She's not just a fantasy to me."
That was a mistake. Because from that night on, Rictor wouldn't shut up about her.
At work, during lunch, over drinks he always found a way to bring her up.
"So, when are you introducing me man?" he asked one afternoon, his voice casual, but his eyes burning with something else.
I scoffed. "Not happening Rictor."
He grinned, but it wasn't friendly. It was the kind of grin that made you feel like prey.
"Come on, Tom. We're friends, right?" His voice was smooth, too smooth. "Just one meeting. One drink. What's the harm? I will be a good kid to her man."
The harm was him.
I didn't trust him. I didn't like the way he talked about her. And I sure as hell wasn't going to let him anywhere near her.
Auntie Isadora was mine. And I would kill before I let anyone take her away from me.
The next day, Rictor was absent for work.
I didn't question it, "why do I care?"
I went about my usual routine like wrote, edited, submitted. Everything was normal. I even stayed past closing hours, finishing up my tasks before finally heading home.
But as I approached Aunt Isadora's house, something immediately felt off.
A sleek crimson sedan was parked across the street. It wasn't just any car, it looked expensive, the kind of car driven by men who either had too much power or too many secrets.
I hurried inside, closing the door behind me and then I froze.
Rictor Vega was sitting in the living room, drinking with Auntie Isadora.
His presence alone was enough to set my blood on fire.
He leaned back on the couch like he belonged there, his long fingers wrapped around a crystal whiskey glass.
He was dressed sharper than usual - black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, the top few buttons undone, revealing just a hint of an old scar near his collarbone. He looked like a predator completely at ease in his new hunting ground.
But what made my stomach twist was Auntie Isadora herself.
She was wearing a thin, silky gown that did nothing to conceal her figure. It clung to her body, the delicate lace of her undergarments peeking through every time she moved.
Her long legs were lazily crossed, her golden skin glowing under the dim lighting.
She looked like temptation itself. And Rictor was drinking her in with his eyes.
My pulse spiked. "What the fuck are you doing here, Rictor?" I snapped, storming toward them.
Aunt Isadora blinked at me, a tipsy smile playing on her lips. "Hey, Tom, where are your manners?" she teased, swirling the deep red wine in her glass. "Rictor here is a fan. And you know what else? He had such nice things to say about you - called you a good employee, working so hard under him, heh?"
I clenched my fists. What the fuck was going on here?
She turned to Rictor, giggling. "Hey, take care of him at work, alright? And I'll sign a poster for you."
A poster?
Was she seriously flirting with him?
Rictor let out a low chuckle, his lips curling in that same damn smile. He swirled his whiskey, his dark eyes flickering toward me before settling back on her.
"Oh, don't worry, Miss Isadora," he said smoothly, tilting his glass to his lips. "Tom's my best friend. I'll make sure he becomes the best content writer in the world."
I was stunned, my mind racing. "Hey, Rictor?"
He turned to me, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Relax, kid. I won't waste your and Miss Isadora's... nocturnal time."
The way he said it so slow, so deliberate which made my stomach churn.
He stood up, adjusting his sleeves, then extended a hand toward Aunt Isadora. She took it gracefully, shaking it with a soft laugh.
"Pleasure meeting you, Miss Isadora," he murmured, holding her gaze just a little too long.
Then he turned back to me, smirking. "See you at the office tomorrow, Tom."
And just like that, he walked out, leaving behind a strange silence and a suffocating tension.
Aunt Isadora let out a sigh, stretching like a cat on the couch. "What a strange man," she mused, running a finger over the rim of her wine glass. "But I actually liked his charming talking. Look, he even gifted me this."
She pointed at a dark green bottle of wine, sitting on the table. The label was French, aged, and ridiculously expensive.
I swallowed hard. "Auntie... he's not a good person."
She chuckled. "Oh, come on, Tom. You're being dramatic. He's harmless."
Harmless? Rictor Vega was many things but harmless? Never.
I didn't argue because there was no point, no matter how much I explained, she wouldn't believe me unless I had proof.
Because Auntie Isadora was already too drunk to care. Her eyes were hazy, her lips slightly parted. As she stood up, the silky gown slid against her skin, teasing me with every movement.
She stepped closer, her breath warm against my neck.
"Mmm, not tonight, sweetheart," she whispered, her lips grazing my jawline. "I'm too tired."
She kissed me deeply, slow and lazy, before pulling away with a sleepy smile.
Then she disappeared into her bedroom, the soft rustling of silk fading behind the closed door.
I stood there, heart pounding, body tense.
That night, I didn't go to her.
Instead, I lay awake in my own bed, staring at the ceiling, haunted by one thought.
Rictor had been in this house and something told me he wasn't fucking done.
The next day at the office, I wasn't in the mood for small talk.
The moment I spotted Rictor leaning against his desk, sipping his damn coffee like he didn't have a care in the world, I stormed over.
"Stay the fuck away from her, Rictor."
Rictor looked up at me, amused, as if I had just told him the sky was blue. "Tom, my boy...ha-ha" He exhaled slowly, smirking. "You're getting all worked up over nothing man."
I clenched my fists. "I mean it, Rictor. Don't do anything... fishy."
He let out a small chuckle, placing his coffee down with an annoying amount of ease. Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice just enough so only I could hear.
"Tom... you have no idea who I was in the cartel." His dark eyes locked onto mine, that same unsettling smirk never leaving his lips. "But yeah, I'm a changed man now. I'm all about giving people what they want... simple"
I could feel my pulse hammering in my ears.
"She doesn't want anything from you, Rictor"
His lips twitched. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong." He stretched his arms, letting out a relaxed sigh. "Your Auntie Isadora... she needs someone in her life. Maybe temporary, maybe just for a night. And I'm just trying to give her exactly what she wants."
I felt my blood boil.
"You will never touch her." My voice was low, filled with anger.
Rictor clicked his tongue, shaking his head like he was scolding a stubborn child. "Tom, Tom, Tom... what makes you think you get to decide?"
