Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
He stays there, cupping my throat to lift my head. “Okay?”
He’s checking in with me. He may talk a tough game, but Nico is considerate. When he’s not pointing a gun at someone’s head.
I arch back. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t move. “Yeah, what?”
My mind stutters, not sure what he wants. “Yes, sir?”
He chuckles. “Baby, you keep calling me sir and you’re going to get fucked until tomorrow. Ask me for what you want. I want to hear you say please again in that sweet little voice that makes my balls so tight.”
“Please, Nico.”
“Fuck.”
He withdraws and slams into me, taking my breath away with the force of it. It’s too rough, too hard, but I wouldn’t complain if it killed me. It feels so right. So good. He fucks me hard, his loins slapping against my ass like a second spanking, his cock drilling deep inside my sopping channel.
“Please.” Now that I know what he wants, what makes him crazy, I’m going to keep saying it.
He curses again and grips my upper arms, arching my upper back as he pounds into me.
I whimper but I spread my legs wider, work to relax my muscles to better receive the full force of his thrusts. My mind is lost. I haven’t even come yet, but I’m rocketing into outer space. No, somewhere better than outer space. The place of no thought. Only pleasure. Only ripe, juicy, satisfying, pounding pleasure.
“Yes, Nico, please,” I whine.
“Stop begging, baby.” His voice is rough. “Stop begging or I won’t last another—fuuuuuuuck.” He buries himself deep and bucks his hips against my ass, coming.
Somehow, he still has the wherewithal to remember I haven’t come and he lifts my hips away from the sofa enough to get his hand under me and rub my clit.
I go off, fireworks splintering in front of my eyes, my body convulsing under his rough touch.
I’m stuffed full of his cock, dancing against his fingers for long moments—for an eternity. And then it’s over and I forget how to breathe.
I collapse over the arm of the sofa, my vision black. No, my eyes are closed. I don’t know how long I’ve been lying limp like that, but Nico eases out and it rouses me.
“Come here, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He spins me around. I can hardly stand on my two feet. I definitely can’t focus.
His smile is indulgent right before he bends at the waist and places his shoulder against my hip. And then I’m in the air, tossed over his shoulder, my bare ass to the sky. He gives it a slap as he carries me to his bathroom. He holds me like a sack of potatoes as he turns on the water to the shower, then puts me down and pulls off my dress.
“I wanted to fuck you in here, little girl. That first day I found you cleaning. I put you in the shower and it was all I could do not to strip and follow you in.” He strips now and I stand there, still a rag doll. “It was totally depraved. And then I heard you crying, and I felt like an even bigger asshole.”
I don’t know what to say, because it is depraved that he wanted to fuck me after what he’d done. And yet, hearing it only brings me the thrill of power I get every time he talks about how much he desires me.
This incredibly wealthy, powerful, dangerous man thinks I’m his weakness.
It makes me giddy with power.
And stupid. Because this is just about sex. It’s an infatuation, for whatever reason. And I’d better watch out or I could find myself in real danger.
“You’re not really going to keep me prisoner here.” I say it like a statement, but it’s really a question. I have to ask, now that my brain is returning and the adrenaline of fear is starting to return.
His lids droop to half-mast. He pushes me into the spray of water and follows me in. I find myself pinned against the beautiful Italian marble wall and his hands coast over my breasts, down my sides.
“Am I going to let you go? It’s debatable. Not until I fuck you at least one more time.”
My anxieties fade. He’s not insane. He wouldn’t really tie me to the bed—not if I didn’t want it. Not the guy who stopped to make sure I was okay when I whimpered during sex.
I didn’t think so, but I needed to be sure.
He grabs a bar of soap and lathers it in both hands, then strokes the suds across my shoulders, then over my breasts. He soaps my belly, down my outer thighs, then he turns me around and gets my back, my ass.
He starts to stroke between the crack of my ass.
My legs, already unsteady, start shaking. It’s both embarrassing and arousing to have my anus so thoroughly cleaned, massaged and stroked.