Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
He caught me, and when he did, I turned my head to meet his eyes, discovering that the mask had been discarded somewhere on the floor. Blue-gray eyes shone back at me, the pupils big and dark. With one hand, he kept me pinned to the bed while with the other, he undid his jeans and pushed them and his briefs down. He took himself into his hand, and our gazes locked. He began to pump. I watched his face, his angel’s face, his burning eyes, swollen lips parted and glistening with my juices.
“I like how you taste,” he said, his body jerking a little.
I turned my gaze to the hand that held his cock, watching him pump hard and fast.
“I told you not to turn around, didn’t I?” he asked.
I licked my lips, unable to tear my eyes away and was ready when he fisted my hair and drew me to my knees before him.
“Suck my cock, Gia.” He shook me once. “If you bite, I’ll fucking kill you.”
I nodded. I had no intention of biting. I opened to take him into my mouth, his taste salty, the skin soft around his thick, hard cock. He pressed back too far too fast, making me choke, but when I tried to push him away, he only held me still and did it again, his eyes on mine, his gaze telling me he was punishing me.
“I told you not to turn around.”
He fucked my face now, thrusting deeper and deeper down my throat, cutting off all breath until I thought I’d pass out and releasing me for an instant to draw desperate gulps of air before repeating.
“You’ll learn to do as you’re told.”
His cock thickened impossibly larger inside my mouth, his hand in my hair so tight it drew tears from my eyes.
“Fuck, Gia.”
He pushed me backward so my head leaned uncomfortably on the bed, and he stilled. I felt the first stream of cum hit the back of my throat. I choked, not ready, but he held me still, closing his eyes until I couldn’t take any more. Then finally he pulled out, his grip on his cock tight as streams of cum covered my chest and my breasts, marking me as his, claiming me, owning me.
Only when he’d emptied did he release me. He pulled up his briefs and jeans and looked at me, his eyes strange, searching. He then reached into one of his pockets and drew out two little pills. I looked at them, at him, and shook my head no, feeling again the buildup of tears, those never-fucking-ending tears.
He only had to raise his eyebrows in warning, and I reached out my hands. He dropped them into my palms and watched me put them into my mouth and swallow. Made me open again so he could make sure I wasn’t hiding them, and when he was satisfied, he picked up his belt and the discarded mask and walked back out the door, locking me in my room once again.
7
Dominic
I went into my bedroom while I waited for the drug to work. There, from inside the same drawer I kept Effie’s photograph, I pulled out a small box and opened it. Inside was my ring, the one I’d worn when I was a Benedetti. The one all the Benedetti men wore. I sat on the bed and studied it, ignoring the desire to slip it on my finger. Shoved away the thought of how much I’d lost. How different my life was meant to be.
Isabella had called me late last night. I’d only spoken to her once after I’d left, when she’d called to tell me Salvatore had handed everything over to our uncle, Roman. She hadn’t called when Effie had broken her arm. I’d only found out about that when I saw Effie wearing a hot-pink cast in one of the photos. She also hadn’t called to tell me about her engagement to Luke. That too I’d seen when I’d spied the rock on her finger in another photo of my daughter. Not that I cared about her marrying Luke. They deserved each other. Where Isabella was concerned, I had no affection. She was the mother of my child. That was all. We’d always be connected no matter what, but that didn’t mean anything more.
No, she’d called to tell me about a body turning up. The body of Mateo Castellano. I’d known Mateo. He’d done some work for my fa—for Franco Benedetti—a few years ago. He’d actually tipped me off about a deal being a trap, which had probably saved my ass, even though I hadn’t acknowledged that fact then. Too fucking arrogant. We’d gotten along well. He’d become a friend even. But then he’d disappeared, moved on, I guessed. He, like I was now, was a nobody. He went where the money took him.