Phantom
: Chapter 33

March 10, 1945

“Oh my— Ronaldo,” I gasp, my eyes rounding at the corners as I take in the monstrosity before me.

Yesterday, he brought me to a beautiful log cabin nestled in the Oregon woods, offering us privacy and a breathtaking view of the mountains surrounding us. The rain held off this morning, so he took me to a quaint coffee shop that served the most delicious croissants I’ve ever had.

After, he said he wanted to introduce me to one of his favorite views on earth. We had been walking on a trail for only a few minutes when the sound of rushing water arose. The second I saw the massive waterfall to my left, I lost all function to breathe. Mist clung to the air as we approached a small cement bridge, and I recognized it immediately from photographs I’d seen.

“Is that the Benson Bridge? Is this Multnomah Falls?” My voice pitches higher with each passing syllable, excitement taking my insides hostage.

“It is,” Ronaldo confirms quietly, an amused grin tugging up his lips.

“It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen!” I marvel when we stop in the middle of the bridge, my hand cupping over my mouth as I take it all in.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ronaldo murmurs from beside me.

A laugh tinkles from my throat, and I drag my wonder-filled stare to him, replaceing his gaze already on mine. “This is incredible,” I breathe.

His answering smile is devastating, and maybe I misspoke because, truly, the sight of him at this moment is paralyzing.

I force myself to look around before I do something silly like tackle him, the love I have for him nearly boiling over.

“How is no one here? This is such a famous location,” I ask, frowning over the lack of tourists. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the place was abandoned.

“I convinced the Forest Service to allow us the day here to ourselves,” he explains, tucking his hands in his trousers casually.

My eyes nearly pop from my head, and I glance around, replaceing a lodge in the distance yet not a single person in sight.

“How?”

“I can be pretty convincing,” he deflects.

I narrow my eyes. “Mr. Salvatore wouldn’t have had an influence now, would he?”

He grins, confirming my suspicions. At this moment, I can hardly be ungrateful for his boss. The view is absolutely astounding, and I’m relieved that it’s just the two of us. While it’s unlikely anyone will recognize either of us here, there will always be a niggling doubt in the back of my mind that someone will expose my affair to John.

I hate that we must hide, but rather than dwelling on that right now, I’m embracing how thrilling it is to be alone with him. Outside of Parsons Manor.

For the first time in sixteen years, I feel . . . free. Right now, I’m not a mother. I’m not a wife. I’m just me. Genevieve Matilda Parsons. A woman who has an unhealthy obsession with Gothic architecture, who wears red lipstick like it’s armor, who pours herself into a journal lest she go mad, and a woman who is helplessly in love with a made man.

But what else do I love?

Do I love nature? This waterfall is beautiful, and I hadn’t thought to explore other wonders of this earth. Do I love long walks on the beach at sunset, or do I prefer to watch the sunrise? Am I afraid of the ocean? Or do I dare swim out into its depths and let it welcome me in?

I love the written word, but what other forms of artistry do I enjoy? Am I an artist? Can I paint? Draw? Play an instrument? I can sing, sure, but what if I want to sing to thousands and not just a family of two?

There are so many questions I have about myself—questions I didn’t realize I desperately need to know the answer to. I had never thought to ask them before because so much of my life revolved around being a mother and a wife.

Even with Daisy and the girls with our annual trips, we were so happy to be away from our houses that we settled into a temporary one, content to relax in a cabin and gossip about the homes we were desperate to escape. Rather than exploring the world and trying new things and discovering who we were outside the roles we were bound in, we locked ourselves in an emptier cage and called it freedom.

But here? Now? I am a woman who wants to discover herself. And I want to do it alongside the man standing before me, introducing me to a new world outside of the walls that had begun to feel more like a prison than a home.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” Ronaldo questions, pulling me away from my thoughts. He holds out his hand for me to grab hold of, and I take it without hesitation, grinning as he tugs me into his firm chest.

It’s cool outside today, yet I burn beneath his gaze. The sun could extinguish from the sky, and his embrace would still keep me warm.

“What does it mean?” I ask, my heart beating in my chest as his stare grows hungry.

He leans in, his lips a hairbreadth away from mine. “No one will hear you scream,” he whispers.

I can only manage a blink before he’s grabbing my elbow and guiding me to the railing, pushing me against the thick cement. However, I continue to peer at him over my shoulder with confusion.

“What are you—”

He’s dropping into a crouch, distracting me from airing the rest of my question.

“Face forward and enjoy the view, Genevieve,” he orders. I gasp when he grips the edge of my dress and lifts, exposing my thick stockings all the way up to my girdle and underwear.

“Ronaldo!” I chastise, quickly glancing around again despite his affirmations that no one is here.

He pins his crystal-blue stare on me, a stern expression arranged on his face.

“The only waterfall I’m interested in is the one I’ll be drinking from between your thighs. Now face forward and bend over the railing, mia rosa. I won’t ask you again.”

The man has lost his mind! He flattens his palm on my lower back and applies pressure, encouraging me to lean over the railing. My heart races, and it’s impossible not to notice the steep drop to the pool below us.

He makes quick work of unclipping the garters from my crotchless girdle and tugging down my underwear, letting it fall to my feet. I jerk beneath his touch, his fingers cold as he spreads me wider apart.

Biting my lip, I glance behind me, my dress draped over his large body, concealing him and his devilish act. He turns around before fitting his broad shoulders between my legs, his back to the railing so I’m straddling his face, his hot breath warming my throbbing core.

“You’re going to make me suffocate you!” I berate. He hardly has any room between my thighs, for God’s sake.

“Does one stand beneath a waterfall expecting to breathe?” he retorts, clearly unconcerned. “I beg you to suffocate me, mia rosa. I’ll die a happy man.”

The first brush of wetness gliding up my slit has my mouth parting, and I force my gaze to the thunderous waterfall before me. It’s far out of reach, yet it feels like it is mere feet away, the power of it as breathtaking as Ronaldo’s tongue spearing inside me.

A moan builds in my throat as he thoroughly explores me, licking the inside of my walls before focusing his attention on my clit. My eyes cross, flutter, and roll, utter euphoria consuming my body as he eagerly devours me.

My knees grow weak, and he stiffens his tongue into a point as he lashes at the bundle of nerves, both persistent and relentless.

I make no effort to quiet the cries pouring from my lips, panting them out in staccato bursts of air. I’m unsure if even Ronaldo can hear them beneath the crash of water, and I don’t care, anyway. It feels too good, and at this moment, I am convinced I’d do anything in this entire world for it to never cease.

If I could live with his head between my thighs, I’d keep him fed for as long as he breathes. He’d never go hungry with me in his mouth, that I can be sure of.

My lower stomach tightens and my knees quake, the ecstasy mounting and mounting until I’m pushing my hips into his face and rolling them mercilessly, forcing him to grab hold of them to keep me still. My head is light, and if I were to tip over this railing, I don’t know if I’d know any different. It already feels as if I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, seconds away from free-falling.

Sensing my looming climax, he sucks my clit into his mouth while simultaneously plunging two fingers inside me, evoking a sharp outcry as I tumble straight over the edge.

Despite the hand on my hip firmly grounding me on the bridge, I’m as certain of my fall as I am of the water cascading over the cliff hundreds of feet above us. There is no end in sight for me or the falls; we will drown anyone who dares stand beneath us.

Just as Ronaldo wanted.

He drinks me in while pumping and curling his fingers inside me. All the while, I lose myself to the stars detonating in my vision. It feels as if it takes hours to reach my landing, and even then it feels like I’m floating.

The only thing that brings me somewhat back to earth is Ronaldo’s sudden absence between my thighs.

Panting heavily, I blink, willing my vision to fully return. His touch reappears before my sight, and he’s once more pushing the fabric of my dress and wool coat over my hips, the cool air a balm to my heated skin.

He allows me no warning, and in a single thrust, he’s seating his entire length inside me. I choke, my eyes popping wide from what would’ve been damn near a violent invasion had I not been sopping wet. A vulgar noise arises when he slowly retreats, then drives back inside me again, earning a sharp cry.

A hand curls into my hair and fists tightly, his mouth inches from my ear as he growls, “How cruel it is that Mother Nature spent millions of years forming such a beautiful sight only for you to exceed it within mere minutes.”

If he wants my words, then he will not get them.

I’m only capable of strangled noises as he savagely fucks me, my back arching and allowing him to drive deeper inside me. It’s almost too much, and it feels as if the tip of his length is hitting the inside of my stomach. However, the bliss supersedes any discomfort, and I allow myself to embrace the fact that I’m being openly ravished on a bridge over a hundred feet in the air. The mere thought of it is so thrilling that a dormant side of me takes over.

Any semblance of modesty bleeds out from my pores, replaced by a woman overcome with lust and shamelessness.

I rest my chest on the railing, crane my head over my shoulder, and reach behind me, grasping each cheek of my backside and spreading myself wider for him. A loud moan erupts from his throat at the sight, and when he lifts his molten stare to mine, I let him see just how wild he makes me.

There’s so much happiness inflating my chest, so much freedom, that I boldly smile at him, a laugh mixing with another lascivious moan. His eyes round at the corners and his hips stutter, seemingly taken aback by my behavior yet equally enraptured by it.

“You make my pussy feel so good, Ronaldo,” I breathe, biting my lip when his expression morphs from shock to ferocity.

Within the blink of an eye, he’s no longer a man but a beast. His hold on me grows bruising, and any regard for my well-being extinguishes. There’s no sympathy as he lifts my upper body by my hair and shoves me forward until my hips slam against the railing. He pushes my head far over the safety of it until my feet lift from the bridge.

The roar of rushing water swallows my startled scream, my arms flailing before I desperately grab the balusters, gripping them painfully tight as if they’ll prevent me from teetering over the edge completely. A glittering pool a hundred feet below expands across my vision, my only reprieve from the frightening sight being the backs of my eyelids.

We must be over a hundred feet in the air, and he’s forcing half my body to hang over the edge!

“Ronaldo!” I squeal, but he either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care.

My feet kick, replaceing purchase on the base rail and giving me some type of balance right as he resumes his thrusting, pounding into me with ferocity. With his towering height, my position only makes it easier for him to hit all the right angles that have my eyes threatening to cross.

Yet the terror overrides my common sense, and I thrash against him, desperate to get back onto solid ground.

“The harder you struggle, the more you tip over the edge,” he warns roughly. “You wanted to act like a whore, baby, so you’re going to take my cock like one.”

One hand presses firmly onto my back, refusing to allow me to sit up, while he uses the other to grab my backside, squeezing almost painfully before delivering a sharp slap, moaning loudly as he does. I gasp, fear and ecstasy battling ruthlessly in my brain. The war between them becomes so violent that they merge as one, and I cannot feel one without the other.

Instead of fighting, I coerce my muscles to relax, allowing him to unleash himself and me to eagerly take all he has to give. I force myself to embrace the mix of heady terror coursing through my system, and rather than cowering from the danger of falling, I lean into it.

Somehow, it only heightens the pleasure, and I think I quite like the thrill of death.

His pace is merciless, his moans unrestrained.

“Such a perfect fucking cunt,” he bites out through gritted teeth. “This pussy was made for me. To fuck and fill with my cum as much as I goddamn please.”

I couldn’t deny that even if I wanted to. Especially when I feel as if I was made just for him, too.

“Yes, yes, Ronaldo,” I chant. I’m unsure if he can hear me, but it matters little.

“I’m going to claim all these tight little holes,” he growls right before I feel pressure on my backside.

My eyes pop wide, and I stiffen, though he doesn’t relent.

“Ronaldo!” I screech, attempting to wiggle his hand away.

He delivers a sharp slap on my cheek, then returns his thumb to the tight ring of muscle.

“You’re mine, Genevieve,” he snarls. “I dare you to fight me. I’d love nothing more than to show you just how helpless you are.”

He’s right. I am helpless as he slowly inserts the tip of his thumb inside me, evoking a foreign sensation that has me squirming.

However, as he goes deeper, my pleasure heightens, and when he begins to pump his thumb in and out, I’m unable to deny how good it feels.

“Oh,” I whimper, my eyes fluttering and the glittery pool beneath blurring. I feel so . . . full. Almost too full.

There’s a pressure building in my lower stomach, and between that and his thumb, it’s almost a frightening feeling. My body is reacting to him in ways that I can’t control, and I’m powerless to stop it.

“I will be stuffing my cock in this tight hole soon, baby. By the time you go home, you’ll be so fucking full of my cum, it will leak through your pores.”

My eyes are rolling, but he doesn’t relent on his filthy words. “What excuses will you make for yourself when you can’t walk, huh, baby? Let’s hear how you’ll lie through your teeth.”

“I—” I can’t get another word out, too overwhelmed with what he’s doing to me, what he’s saying.

“Your pussy and ass are going to be swollen when I’m finished. What will you tell your husband?”

“Maybe I’ll tell him the truth,” I bite out breathlessly, struggling to get the words out of my constricted throat. “That I was your whore and let you fuck me anywhere you wanted. Then maybe I’ll tell him I much prefer your cock over his.”

The sound out of his mouth is a cross between a dark chuckle and a deep groan, emanating pure satisfaction.

“That’s my good girl,” he croons. “You’re so good at being my whore, aren’t you? So fucking eager to please me. So desperate for my cock.”

“Yes,” I cry, the pleasure becoming too much now. “Ronaldo, don’t stop. I-I’m going to . . .”

I’m unable to finish, another orgasm washing over me as suddenly as a tidal wave, and I’m swept away.

I feel rather than hear the scream leave my throat, my mind quickly held hostage to the euphoria rushing through me. At the same moment, his hips still as his release floods me and his moans turn into whimpers.

By the time we both come down, Ronaldo’s knees threaten to give out on him, so he gently pulls me back onto the bridge and then down onto the ground.

I don’t care that the cement is wet and dirty; stars are still floating in my vision, and adrenaline is still coursing through my veins. I feel high, and my chest is so laden with joy that I feel like bursting at the seams.

A laugh trickles from my throat, breathless and cracked but still so full of life.

Ronaldo tucks himself away before lying flat on his back, heaving, his own smile stretched across his face.

I lie beside him, a few more choked giggles disturbing my unsettled breath.

Tears well in my eyes as I stare at the overcast sky, and I’m unsure of the exact reason, but I do know that it stems from happiness.

“Thank you for showing me a love for waterfalls,” I whisper. “I never knew I loved them.”

I feel his gaze burning into the side of my face, where a lone tear leaks down my temple. His index finger swipes the tear away, but he doesn’t coddle me or demand I tell him why I’m crying. Instead, he whispers, “There are so many more I can take you to.”

My bottom lip trembles, and my heart squeezes painfully. Without telling him, he understands my emotions. He knows it isn’t often that I learn something new about myself—at least, not before he arrived.

“I want to swim in one,” I tell him, keeping my voice quiet. “Can we do that, too?”

“If you promise we can climb it, too,” he answers, his tone warm and gentle.

I grin, liking the sound of that.

“Will you take me to the Atlantic Ocean? I must know if sunrises or sunsets over the water are better.”

“Then you shall know.”

“Can we take classes together? We can learn to paint, or sketch, or maybe even throw pottery.”

“You’ll master all of them in no time.”

Another tear wiggles free, and it feels like my heart is soaring. “Will you take me to the desert? Where it’s hot and sandy, and there isn’t a single tree in sight? I’ve only ever known the mountains and ocean.”

“Only if we bring lots of water.”

I bark out a laugh because his response is both unexpected and everything I needed to hear. My face hurts from how hard I grin, and I turn to look at him.

A knowing smile graces his wide lips. He stares at me as if he already has all the answers, and the only answer is me.

“Could we do these things with Angelo as your boss?”

“We could do anything you dream of, mia rosa. He owes me his life—more than he has to give—which is why he will grant me my own.”

I chew on my lip, tracing over every inch of his skin. “What about the . . .” I trail off, attempting to replace a delicate way to put it. “The contracts?”

“Undoubtedly, I will miss them. But there is nothing more fulfilling than you, Genevieve. I will gladly wash my hands clean of blood if it means your hands will replace it.” Butterflies unleash in my stomach, and I am at a loss over how this villainous man became my hero.

“You’ve never known a life outside of it, but maybe you will learn new ways to satisfy that part of you,” I murmur.

“I already have,” he returns, a sly grin blooming on his face. His eyes are heated as they trail over my disheveled state.

I laugh, though my insides warm and thighs clench. “Though I must admit,” he continues, “I can’t say with certainty that I will ever be fully satisfied. I have a terrible feeling it will never be enough and I’ll always demand more. Are you prepared for that, my love?”

“I’m prepared for anything, so long as it’s with you,” I whisper, lifting my pointer finger and trailing my red-painted nail over his soft lips.

He nips at it, trapping the tip of my finger between his straight teeth. I bite my lip, tingles spreading throughout my body as he stares at me through thick lashes, fire raging within.

Releasing me, he nearly growls, “We better leave before I take you here again.”

I arch a brow. “Would that be so terrible?”

“Of course not, my love, but there’s so many things I have yet to show you. And so many places with beautiful views to enjoy while I pleasure you.”

My cheeks flush, and I lift my knees, preparing to sit up. Only then do I realize my legs are still trembling, and I’m unsure how on earth I’m going to stand.

I scoff, replaceing his gaze locked on to my shaking knees. “I suppose you were right, my dear,” I say, chuckling. “I don’t know if I can walk.”

“I’ll carry you. You don’t need your legs when you’re with me,” he rasps.

“No? Won’t I need them to ride you?”

He growls, though it quickly bleeds into a groan. “Keep it up, Genevieve. This day has only just begun.”

“I know, and you’ve already nearly sent me plummeting into a waterfall,” I chuckle while rolling toward him, bending my arm to rest my head on my hand. We have more adventures to be had, but I’m content to stay here just a little longer, basking in the moment of lying on a bridge with a rushing waterfall as our backdrop.

“You could’ve killed me, you know,” I tease lightly.

He grins, and though he radiates happiness, there’s a seriousness to his stare as he proclaims, “I would have followed you.”

“You shouldn’t,” I say softly. “You have so much life to live, and maybe enough room in your heart to love another.”

He’s shaking his head before I can finish. He raises his fingers to my lips as if to silence me, staring at me with so much love, I can’t help but lean in and place a kiss on his calloused flesh.

“There will never be another, nor will I live a life without you. Death awaits us all, Genevieve. Even still, it will not keep me from you.”

There will never be sufficient words to respond, so I capture his lips in a passionate kiss, content that no matter what happens, he will always be with me.

In life. And in death.

May 16, 1946

I love you, Ronaldo.

With every beat of my heart and every fiber of my being.

I love you so much.

Not even death can take that away from us.