Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
I moaned then whimpered as I found my release.
Ettore groaned harshly as my pussy throbbed viciously around his dick. He ground into me, stretching my orgasm out and I dug my nails into his good shoulder as I fought through it. Then, suddenly, I felt him still. He let out a ragged breath as his erection began to jerk and spew come into me. Wet warmth coated my insides before it began to seep out, dripping down between our legs.
His hold on me gentled. His movements slowed, then stopped. And then, together, we panted.
We stayed that way for a long while, until our breathing slowed and our bodies softened. Ettore tapped my hip and I got the hint. I sluggishly climbed off of him and fell breathlessly into the seat beside him.
Instantly, he looked down and when he caught sight of his semi-erect cock, my cheeks burned in humiliation.
My eyes widened as he blinked, huffing and puffing, coming down from his orgasm. A moment passed, then a minute, then two, and then he looked down at his stained fingers, turned to me with furrowed brows and an accusation in his eyes when asked the awkward question I knew had been coming.
“You were a virgin?”
Chapter 5
A walking angel
Vittoria
“You didn’t think to tell me?” Ettore muttered under his breath, close enough to the shell of my ear that he radiated warmth while sounding utterly furious. “Didn’t consider that was something you should let me know?”
What he said lingered as I stood in the center of the foyer. My jaw tensed uncomfortably and I fisted my free hand tightly enough to have left the imprint of my nails lodged firmly into my palm. Having caught my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the way in had me cringing on the inside. My long brown hair was no longer in delicate waves, but tangled from violence and sex alike. My naturally pouting lips were now red, bruised and swollen. I had a very attractive looking beard rash on my cheek and chin. And the veritable stranger who just fucked me in the back of a moving limo was now demanding answers that I didn’t think I had it in me to give.
After Ettore broached the mortifying question, I was lucky enough that the limo pulled up outside of the hotel and the driver had given a couple of courteous taps to the window that separated us. Ettore growled low in his throat before tucking himself back into his pants and fixing his attire. He opened the door beside him and stepped out. I shuffled over but stilled, surprised, when his large hand dipped back inside. He held it out to me and after a second, I took what he offered, if not only because I wasn’t wearing panties and hoped to exit in a graceful way that didn’t expose my nether region.
He closed his hand around mine and my first instinct was to pull away. The small tug of my hand had him turning his head and glaring at me in a way that said I did not want to fight him right now. And as we walked, I couldn’t help but notice he held my hand awfully gently for somebody who had just threatened my life as he rammed me so hard that he almost split me in two.
He was no longer inside me, but I felt him still. My core pulsed as if begging him back.
We were causing a scene. I know this because as we walked towards the front desk, hand-in-hand, every person we passed along the way stopped mid-step to stare. And, could you blame them?
My makeup was smeared. My dress torn. The flap of Ettore’s shirt hung out at one side, over the waist of his tailored pants. His tie hung loose around his neck, boutonniere snapped in two, with the head of the white rose hanging limp by a single thread. My heels dangled from one hand. Not to mention, we were both covered in blood.
I would have stared too.
We looked like a walking crime scene.
The concierge stood wide-eyed, waiting for our approach. I should have known he would take me somewhere the staff knew his name. But that wasn’t exactly a fair assumption. The truth was, there weren’t a lot of places in this city that didn’t know who he was.
We arrived at the counter and the concierge said, “Good evening, Mr. Scala. Are you in need of medical attention?”
A firm, “No,” was all he offered, but his jaw was steeled and I could tell he was in pain.
The concierge seemed to have dealings enough with him to return, “Very well,” as she began typing. Not long after, she placed two keycards onto the counter and said, “The suite is ready for you. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate.”