Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I’m confused, trying to process, to figure out how to respond. His gaze moves over my face and hovers at my mouth.
“I need to be inside you again,” he says.
“What?”
He steps toward me, a hand snaking up my back and fingers weaving into my hair. He tugs my head backward and kisses my mouth hard, then moves to my neck.
“Besides, you didn’t come,” he says as he slides a hand up along the inside of my thigh, pushing my panties aside to close his fingers over my sex.
I gasp.
“And I like watching you come,” he says, his fingers working expertly, like he has always known exactly how to play me.
My hands move to his shoulders, holding onto him as he circles my clit. His other arm wraps around me, and he lifts me up, walking me backward to the wall.
A knock on the door startles me, but Santos isn’t bothered. He just draws my attention by turning my face back to his.
“Car’s ready,” Val calls out.
“Be right down,” Santos says to the closed door. “I don’t have time to fuck you properly, but I’ll make you come, Little Kitty. And then I expect you to do as you’re told and go to bed, do you understand?” he asks, hoisting me up. I hear the zipper of his slacks as he tugs the crotch of my panties aside, not even bothering to take them off.
I swallow. “Where are you going?”
“Do you understand?” he repeats, flicking his fingers over my clit, making me forget what I’m asking.
I nod.
“Good Little Kitty,” he says and with one hard thrust, he pushes into me, forcing a grunt from me as he grips my ass cheeks with his hands. I cling to him, wrapping my legs around him.
The sound of men moving in the other room distracts me. Is the door locked? Would one of them walk in? Santos is clearly unbothered.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” He shifts his grip to bring his thumb to my clit, and I let out a deep moan, writhing against his hand. “That’s a good Kitty.” He grins and kisses me, still massaging my clit. I’m sure I’ll come apart if he continues much longer. “You’re so fucking tight and wet.” He kisses my open mouth and whispers. “I want to hear my name on your lips when you come.” His fingers work over my clit as the tension before orgasm builds, winding my body tighter and tighter.
I find myself kissing him back, tongue on tongue, him tasting me, me tasting him, and I do just as he says. I come for him, and I’m sure they hear me in the next room when I call out his name. I hold tight to him, every muscle tensed as he watches me. His hard cock is still inside me when my legs go limp, and he bears my weight as he draws out of me, leaving me confused when he adjusts my panties and tucks himself back into his slacks.
Santos carries me to the bed, draws the blanket back, and sits me on the edge of it. I’m like a ragdoll while he pulls my dress off over my head then lays me down. He draws the blanket up to my chest and smiles, brushing hair that’s sticking to my forehead away before adjusting his erection.
“What about you?” I ask, because he’s still hard.
“When I’m back,” he says, caressing my cheek. “In the meantime, I want you to remember one thing. Remember that you belong to me. Only me. Understand?”
I nod, not really understanding why he’s asking that. Not sure why the thought has butterflies fluttering their wings in my stomach.
“Get some sleep.” He bends to touch his lips to my forehead, and it’s a strangely tender thing to do, so opposite the Santos he shows the world.
“You never answered about Camilla,” I say when he reaches the door.
The words stop him. His back tenses, and I prop myself on my elbows. What we just did was him distracting me, and I admit, it felt good. Amazing, even. But it doesn’t change anything. Making me come is something. The tenderness he handles me with is at times confusing.
But I’m not that easy to manipulate or distract.
“You want to know if I fucked her?” he asks, turning to face me.
His eyes have changed. They’ve grown cold and empty. They’ve lost their shine. I don’t like it. It’s like the darkness I sensed within him before has seeped to the surface. It’s this thing inside him that’s frightening. Not his violence, not his rage, but this—this deadness, that truly scares me.
“I wouldn’t touch that snake with a ten-foot pole,” he says, with disgust and loathing in his voice. It doesn’t leave me feeling relieved, but instead questioning what happened with him and that family that the mention of them draws this visceral of a response.