Becoming His Mistress Read online A.E. Murphy

Categories Genre: Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
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I shriek when I sidestep into a warm body and a hand comes up to clasp over my mouth. With wide eyes I look at Ezra whose incredible grays are blazing down at me, so desperate and wild.

When he’s satisfied I’m not about to scream, he lets me go but only to slide his hand around to my neck. His own love, guilt, desperation, and lust pours from his eyes, mirroring my own.

I sob once, fighting the urge to cry as I inhale his sweet, masculine scent and recall what it was like to be in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice so quiet I can hardly hear it. “I am so sorry, Rose. I miss you so much.”

“Step back,” I hiss, fighting the tears. “Step back right now before it’s too late.”

“I can’t.” His forehead rests against mine and he backs me into the bathroom door that I closed behind me. My back hits the wood and his lips skim against my own.

I fight it. I fight so hard as he nips at my lips, just grazing them with his own and his teeth.

I listen to the party going on beyond the door and try to focus on it as just his teasing has me wetter than Niagara Falls between my thighs.

“I miss you. It’s hell without you.” His breath tickles my cheeks and even that sends need and desire spiraling through me. I’m so hot and needy.

“Stop,” I whimper, pushing weakly at his chest as his hands push down my thighs and then drag my dress up to my hips. He kisses me and I get lost in it. For a moment I forget that he’s not mine and let him hitch my leg over his hip. I groan and grind against him, opening my mouth to taste him like before. He tastes incredible. He tastes forbidden. He tastes of sin, sweet, salacious sin.

He groans like a starved man eating his first meal in weeks and rocks against me.

But then the bedroom door rattles, snapping me out of this weak moment I got lost in and we part, both of us hungry and swollen but I seem to be the only one that’s devastated.

I panic when the door rattles again and shove him so hard he falls onto the bed.

I consider climbing onto his lap and fucking him to oblivion regardless of who is beyond the door, but then I think of how I’d feel being somebody’s pregnant wife with a husband like him.

“Stay away from me,” I cry, feeling tears burn my cheeks. My makeup is going to be a mess. “You’re a cruel man, Ezra Conti.”

“Wait… Rose—"

I return to the bathroom and lock myself in it, if only to better present myself for when I leave and if only for a moment of peace to cry a little more.

“I…” I hear him say through the door. It thuds, I imagine his head pressing against it and wish I had the courage and strength to open the door and take him into my arms, let him fuck me against the wall the way I want without even thinking of the people we will hurt if we get caught.

Why do I have to have a conscience? Why?

“I love you, I can’t turn it off. I need you. Even just… just an email, a text… please.” He finishes, and I hear him walk away as I grasp the vanity and wonder how he can torture me so.

I fix my face and wait a few minutes until somebody else opens the door. I pass the oblivious woman, smiling at her as I go. When I return to the party, Robert returns to my side with a fresh drink in hand, this one much stronger than the last.

“You okay?”

I shake my head. “Ezra just followed me into the bathroom.”

“Want to talk about it?” he asks quietly.

“I hate him,” I reply, downing the drink. “But I’m here for you, not him and you are going to have the best party of your entire life.”

“Am I now?” he questions, his lips smirking and his eyes on mine.

“Yep,” I respond with a firm nod and drag him to the bar. “Let’s start by getting drunk.”

He follows, chuckling and letting me pull him along, eyes watch us but I don’t care. Robert is single, I’m not at work and I’ve never let loose like I’m about to before.

“Tequila Rose,” I demand, grinning at the hired barman. “Four shots.” I turn to the crowd and yell, “ANYBODY ELSE?”

“Hell yeah!” an unknown male cheers and soon there’s a gathering of us passing around shot glasses of creamy pink liquid.

We count down from three, and with a cheer, we swallow the sweet, tangy alcohol, and with a cringe as the burn relinquishes its hold on my throat, I demand another. Robert is right there alongside me.


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