Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
But there's another difficult question I’ve been meaning to ask, and I think I’m ready for the answer now.
“Luca,” I say quietly as our eyes meet. “Was Peter happy, in his last days? And . . . when he died, was he at peace?”
“Yes,” Luca says, clearly uncomfortable.
I wonder if he's lying, but I guess I don't have the courage to learn the truth, after all.
Sarah
Donna: You’re still living with that loser?
I let out a tired sigh when I read my mom’s text.
After years of nothing from her, suddenly now, she’s all concerned about me?
I don’t buy it. And that’s why I haven’t been responding to her lame attempts at communication.
Besides, Luca’s been nothing but kind and gentle to me—except for when I specifically don’t want him to be kind and gentle, of course—and my mom has been her usual egotistical, abrasive self.
Also, I’m kind of . . . tied up right now.
Literally.
Luca went outside when the doorbell rang, but it’s been half an hour and he’s still not back yet. It’s quiet in the house, and I wonder if he’s even home at all.
Maybe he’s gone out and left me to sit here all day, tied up with porn playing on the big screen in front of me and a vibrator on my pussy.
He could do that. And he would do that. When Luca’s being cruel to me, he hits me where it hurts.
Other men may only hurt me physically and verbally, but Luca messes with my mind. He gets me all dripping and desperate for him, and then he makes me wait and beg for him to take me. At that point, I’m happy to do anything for release.
If Luca’s really gone and, say, a robber breaks in here and finds me, I don’t know what I’d do. I mean, there’s nothing I can do. I’m sitting backward on a bar chair Luca’s dragged in here from the kitchen island.
My chest leans against the back of the chair, while my thighs rest on the seat and my ass hangs over the edge. My legs and the chair legs are taped together.
If a criminal bursts into this room and sees me naked and gift-wrapped like a Christmas present, I worry about what he’d do. At the same time, the idea of a robber forcing himself on me is . . . kind of hot.
That’s exactly what’s happening in the porno I’m watching. Luca’s done some magic to the TV in his bedroom so it shows my phone display on the screen, which is why my video was interrupted by a decidedly unsexy text message.
Currently, I’m watching yet another video where a woman’s being taken by force.
The porn stars’ acting would be more believable if they didn’t also show the part where they interviewed the women to show they were actually doing everything willingly.
But who am I kidding? I don’t really care if the storyline is believable, or if the actual sex scene should be in a different video than the interview scene.
Wetness has been trickling out of me and onto the chair. I’m literally trembling with arousal.
A vibrator is nestled at the corner where the seat and the back of the chair meet, between my thighs. It feels good, but not enough to bring me over the edge. Luca’s positioned it so I could feel the vibrations, but not press myself on it.
When the door opens behind me, I prick my ears up. The way my shoulders are tied to the back of the chair, I can’t twist around to see who’s joined me in this room.
Luca?
. . . or a robber?
Whoever’s in the room, he (or she?) isn’t giving me any clues. All I hear are footsteps and heavy breaths.
Judging by how Luca reacted when I told him about my past lovers, he’s not the kind of guy who’d share. So even though I haven’t expressly told him not to bring in another person into the bedroom, I’m pretty sure that’s not what’s happening.
So, this person is probably Luca . . . right?
I gasp when fingers lightly trail down my bare back. The shadow of the figure behind me is reflected on the TV screen. He’s probably a man—a tall one. He’s wearing a hoodie. Beyond that, there’s not much I can see.
The fingers travel south. As they graze over my ass, I whimper. My heart skips a beat, and my breathing grows heavy.
I’ve had anal sex before, but I’ve never enjoyed it—not physically, at least, although mentally it’s a mind-fuck, especially because I don’t get any physical satisfaction from it, and I only do it to please the man I’m with.
My breathing slows down as the fingers brush over my taint and my wet pussy lips. Just as I begin to pant and sigh with need, a heavy hand lands on my ass and I scream in pain and surprise. My clit grazes against the seat of the chair, which is enough to send a shot of pleasure straight to my core.