Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
That wouldn’t be an issue with me. She flat out had the worst luck in finding a competent sexual partner. From what I’ve learned while watching her, she would always chose needy, lazy men who wanted her to do all the work and rarely reciprocated her efforts—guys who took advantage of her giving nature. They’d let her do all the work, cum, and that’d be it. Selfish fucks. Once I got her in bed, she’d finally learn that there wasn’t anything wrong with her, that the fault lay in her partner’s lack of giving a shit if she climaxed or not. That wouldn’t be the case with me. No, I’d make her orgasm over and over again until she passed out from pleasure.
I fucking loved watching her cum, and just the memory of her sultry moan as she came with her vibrator has my cock twitching.
Leo gave me a wry smile, then returned his attention to his phone. “Yeah, they’re probably watching some zombie movie and eating Chinese. What is it Joy always gets?”
“Almond chicken and fried dumplings,” I replied instantly and ignored the knowing chuckles around me.
My obsession with Joy was the worst kept secret around, but I wanted my family to stay the fuck out of it, so I pretended I didn’t know everything about her in the way only a true stalker could.
My mind turned to the suit Joy had been wearing before she left for her tutoring job, the professional armor she put on to try and minimize her mouthwatering curves, to make people look past the fact that she was built for sex. Not that it worked. In a way, she resembled a really young Dolly Parton, who was, oddly enough, one of my mother’s favorite singers. My first hint of a sexual awakening was looking at the covers of one of my mom’s country albums and staring at Dolly’s magnificent rack as I got wood. When I was fourteen, I watched The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas and my dick fell in love. From that moment on, I’ve been fascinated by dimpled natural blondes with large breasts. Joy’s big tits were magnificent, and her dimples drove me crazy. While the tan and black suit she’d been wearing earlier today had been built to minimize her sex appeal, nothing could hide her perfect, exaggerated hourglass figure.
My dick started to fill, and I quickly shifted my thoughts back to the present, ignoring my base urges to possess, to own Joy.
An odd noise came from across the room, and I turned to find Leo sagging to his knees. He’d paled so much he’d turned yellow—a pallid, cheesy yellow that made my stomach sink. I’d only seen Leo go pale with emotion once, and that was when we’d found Jason. My heart raced as sour, rancid fear filled my mouth.
“Son?” my dad said as he took a step closer to Leo. “What is it?”
Leo let out a roaring scream of anger that raced up my spine like ice. “Hannah!”
Less than forty minutes later, even though it felt like an eternity, I was shoving my way into one of the guest rooms in my parent’s palatial mansion, cursing my mother’s need to have a house that resembled a hotel with its amount of guest rooms.
Hannah and Joy had been attacked in their apartment by a snuff porn producer named Manny Santiago, a relatively high-ranking member the Santiago cartel. Those evil motherfuckers specialized in human trafficking and sex slavery. Thanks to the power of the Dark Net, they profited from sick fucks around the world willing to pay huge sums of money to watch women fucked and killed. The Santiagos were lower than low, the scum of the earth. We’d gotten into battles and skirmishes with them in the past, but they’d never fucked with the Cordova cartel directly—that we could prove—so we couldn’t retaliate without starting a war.
Kayla—Joy and Hannah’s drug addict roommate—brought Manny and his bodyguards home with her. They’d hit on the girls and had learned of Hannah’s involvement with Leo. Unfortunately, one of Manny’s bodyguards had a brother who Leo had tortured to death for kidnapping and killing one of the escorts under the Cordova Cartel’s protection. My stomach lurched as I tried to keep my overactive imagination from running through different scenarios in which Joy had been hurt much, much worse than the beating she’d received.
Thankfully, Leo’s second-in-command, Mark, had arrived in time to rescue the girls and bring them back to my parent’s house, but they’d been badly hurt before help had arrived and my gut churned with anger at the thought of anyone harming Joy.
When I burst into the room, I fought back a growl at the sight of my mother’s personal plastic surgeon, Dr. Gato, stitching up a gash on Joy’s temple.
“Ramón,” my mom snapped from behind me. “Control.”