Wet Dreams!!
Angel's Point Of View.
“So you’re going to be on TV?” Luca asked, surprise and excitement sparkling in his eyes. I nodded, and before I could catch my breath, he scooped me up and twirled me around, making me yelp in delight.
“Luca!” I managed to giggle, my palms resting firmly on his shoulders as he spun me.
“I’m so happy for you, sis! Can I be the lead male? Or even better, the evil man?” His mischievous grin spread wide as he pulled my hand to his chest, giving me those puppy eyes that always made me want to laugh.
“Come on, you know I’m just an actress, right? I have people above me; I don’t call the shots, idiot.” His face fell for a moment, like a child denied candy, but then it lit up again, and I knew that glimmer—he was cooking up something cheeky.
“Can I go to LA with you?” He blurted out.
“Luca...." I drawled his name, not buying the idea. “Who’ll stay with Mom?”
“We can transfer Mom,” he said quickly, optimism bubbling in his voice.
"And college?” I crossed my arms, raising a brow, bracing myself for the inevitable argument.
“I can apply for a school there! Besides, the winter semester is almost over, so I can get into a new school easily for the next semester.”
I sighed, uncertainty creeping in. This was a big decision, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were jumping into the deep end without looking.
“Luca, I don’t know about that..."
“Please, sis! It’ll be better for Mom. You won’t have to book a flight every weekend just to see us!” He had a point.
I knew how difficult it was to balance my career aspirations with the responsibility of caring for our mother. But still, I was worried about him. Would it not affect his academics?
“I know what you’re thinking, Angel. I’ll be fine. It won’t affect my studies.” His determination was transparent, and I could sense that he wouldn’t let this go easily.
Defeated by his relentless enthusiasm, I knew he wouldn’t stop pestering me until I relented.
“Alright, Luca. I’ll start looking for an apartment, and I’ll ask Doctor Fred for help transferring Mom to a good hospital. But you have to start applying for a good college to transfer into. We have just three days to leave.”
His face broke into a wide grin, and he pulled me into his embrace. I wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling the warmth of his excitement enveloping me.
“Thank you, sis! You’re the best!” He exclaimed, kissing my forehead before dashing off, his energy radiating through the room.
“Anything for you, Luca,” I whispered, watching his retreating figure with a smile.
Deep down, I wondered if I should have denied him this wish, but a part of me understood his reasons for wanting to go to LA.
This was a leap not just for me, but for both of us—a chance to chase our dreams while caring for the person we loved most.
A little later, I made my way to the hospital, and straight to Dr. Fred’s office, my heart heavy with anticipation. He greeted me warmly as I walked in, his gentle demeanor always putting me at ease.
"Dr. Fred, I spoke to you about transferring Mom to a hospital in LA. Can you help us with that?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Of course," he replied, nodding. "I have a colleague in LA who can assist with the transfer. It can only happen in a week, though, due to the necessary arrangements."
"That’s fine," I said, relief washing over me. "We can manage that."
Before I left, I made my way to my mother’s room. She was sleeping, the beeping of the machines providing a monotonous backdrop to the quiet of the room.
Tears rolled silently down her cheeks, and my heart ached at the sight.
"I’ll save you, Mom," I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "Soon, you won’t have to go through all this suffering. We’ll be together in LA to start a new life, and everything will be alright."
I returned home late that night, the sterile smell of the hospital still clinging to my clothes after visiting my mom.
The day had been heavy, filled with worry and unplanned decisions, and all I wanted was to lose myself in the comfort of my own space.
After a long, hot bath, I slipped into a giant hoodie and flowery shorts, the ultimate comfort combo. I flopped onto my bed, only to have my brother burst in without so much as a knock.
“I’ve told you countless times, do not barge into my room!” I yelled at him, but he paid me no mind. He plopped himself down at the edge of my bed, an infuriating grin plastered across his face.
“I applied to some good colleges, and I’ll be able to transfer in a week or two,” he announced, as if my annoyance didn’t exist.
“A week? I can’t stay for a week! Mr. D’Amano asked me to return in three days.”
“You don’t have to worry, Angel. I can wait here with Mom, and once everything is ready, we’ll come over.”
“Are you sure about that?” I asked, uncertainty creeping in. He flashed me a reassuring smile.
“A hundred percent sure, sis.” I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension as he got up to leave, wishing me a good night.
Just as I settled back into my pillows, my phone pinged, pulling my attention away from sleep. Furrowing my brows, I grabbed it. My eyes widened at the notification: a massive deposit. Five hundred thousand dollars.
“What?” I whispered, blinking continuously. Five hundred thousand dollars?
I stared at the figure, unable to comprehend how such a sum could appear in my account. I didn’t have any relatives or friends generous enough to send me that kind of money, and I was certain it wasn’t from Red or Mr. Noah.
I quickly contacted the bank, but they were as tight-lipped as ever, offering no clues.
A specific pair of blue orbs clouded my thoughts, but I shook my head, trying to dismiss the idea. It couldn’t be him. Why would he do something like this for me?
I whispered a silent prayer for the kind soul who had decided to help me in such an extraordinary way.
Unable to sleep, I grabbed my phone and went out to the balcony, hoping the night air would clear my mind.
As I scrolled through the internet, I found myself searching for “Raul D’Amano.”
The film producer with a reputation that sparkled brighter than the all the stars in the sky, joined together. His achievements were undeniably impressive, but it was his looks that captivated me—the way he carried himself with such confidence and charisma.
All forbidden thoughts of him vanished when I stumbled on a picture of him with his wife that brought me back to reality.
She was smiling so brightly that I felt like her cheeks were hurting. Her radiance through the screen was a contrast to the icy look on his sexy face. They're a good fit, for sure, but I still can't help the slightly burning sensation in my heart when I think of the fact that he's married.
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"Fuck!" I moaned as his fingers circled my clit.
"Tell me exactly what you want, Caramella," he breathed, his hot breath fanning my thighs, raising goosebumps on my skin.
"I..I..i want you," I whispered, my voice trembling as I gripped the sheets, knuckles white.
"I can't hear you," he murmured, and my frustration mounted. I squeezed the sheets tighter.
“I want you buried deep inside me, Raul," I begged. He tugged roughly at my wrist, bending me over until my ass was in the air. His cold hand caressed my cheeks, an opposite of the fire building between my legs. His touch sent an electric current through me.
“I'm going to spank you, Caramella. Do you know why?" He whispered, his voice dangerously low, igniting a burning wetness between my legs.
"N-no, sir," I stammered.
The low rumble of his chuckle vibrated through me, it was deep enough to hit my G-spot. His palm connected with my ass, stinging but oddly exhilarating.
“That's your punishment, Caramella, for being a naughty daddy's girl. And I hope this will teach you a lesson."
"I'm sorry, daddy," I moaned, the pain mingling with a strange, burgeoning pleasure.
"You're forgiven, Angel, but I still need to teach you a lesson, hmm?" Another spank. Tears pricked my eyes. And another. And another. By the sixtieth spank, my cheeks and the sheets were soaked.
"Please, Raul," I cried.
He roughly pulled my hair, forcing my back against his chest. His hands roughly cupped my breasts, eliciting a cry of pain. His teeth sank into my neck, leaving painful marks that trailed down to my shoulders as he kneaded my breasts.
Without warning, he thrust inside me, the sudden invasion causing a sharp, searing pain.
“Raul—"
"Yes, Caramella," he growled, "go ahead and moan my name with that sweet mouth of yours. I want the whole world to know that you're Raul D'Amano's slut." His thrusts were slow, deep, and agonizingly pleasurable.
My moans were guttural, animalistic. "Raul, I'm about to—"
"Cum for me, Angel," he commanded, and with a shuddering climax, I did.
I woke up gasping, my chest heaving, sweat slicking my forehead. A dampness between my legs startled me. Looking down, I saw my shorts soaked through with a thick, milky residue, the bed beneath equally stained.
“The fuck?" I whispered, my voice raspy. "Did I just have a wet dream… about Mr. D’Amano? A married man?" The thought hit me like a harsh slap. This can't be happening.
This is wrong, a sin. I raked my fingers through my hair, the image of the dream, of him, clinging to my mind. The unsettling feeling intensified, a fresh wave of wet clogged my pussy.
I needed a cold shower, desperately. I quickly washed the offending shorts and threw them in the dryer before scrambling into the shower.
The icy water did little to quell the turmoil inside. The harder I tried to push the dream, to erase Mr. D’Amano’s image from my mind, the more vividly it played itself out, his face seared into my memory.
His image was stuck, lodged in my heart and head, and with it a burning, insistent need.
My clitoris throbbed, an insistent, unwelcome drumbeat against the cold tiles. My hormones raged, a chaotic storm within. I couldn't just go out and find some random man; deep down, I knew I wouldn’t be satisfied unless it was Raul.
The safer option was myself. I rubbed my clitoris in slow, circular motions, the friction a small comfort amidst my sexual turmoil. I couldn’t bring myself to finger myself properly; it felt too… painful.
The thought of deflowering myself, of doing this without Raul, was unbearable. I wanted nothing less than for it to be him.
I leaned back against the cold tiles, spreading my legs wider, focusing on the pleasure building from my clit. My other hand drifted to my breasts, kneading and massaging.
“Fuck!” I moaned, the sound muffled by the water, my mind forcefully substituting Raul's image for my own touch. The fantasy eased the unbearable tension, but only temporarily.
I'm screwed. Having these dreams, this erotic need… for a married man. The guilt crashed over me again, a heavy wave of self-recrimination.
Lord, forgive me!