Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
She wraps her arms around my neck and locks her ankles behind my ass, holding on as I pump and rub and goddamn, I’m going to shoot a dry load but I’m going to come with her again.
She makes me do things. Things I can’t take back. Things I refuse to regret.
Breaking my own rule, I give her a hoarse command. “Say it. Say my name.”
She doesn’t scream it in pleasure. When her pussy spasms around my cock, she cups my cheek and utters the word I want to hear most on her lips with a soft sigh. “Angelo.”
If the moan she uttered with her mouth full of my dick was hot, then saying my name when she comes is perfect.
I let her come undone, let her ride out the aftershocks on my hard cock until her thighs fall open and her head drops back. I must be pumping her raw, but I can’t stop. I chase my release until it aches, until I come dry with painful spurts of nothingness, wrenching torturous pleasure from my spent body.
Only she can do this to me.
Exhaustion steals over my intoxicated senses. It’s not just the alcohol. It’s her. She’s like a drug to my senses. An addiction to my body.
Resting our foreheads together, I take a moment to catch my breath before I pull out. I’m still fully dressed. I haven’t even taken off my shoes.
I push to my feet like a drunken man, taking in the sight before me. She’s spread out naked, the skin of her belly and thighs scraped red from the buttons of my waistcoat and the teeth of my zipper. My cum is smeared over her. Inside her. Over my clothes.
My gaze dips to her flat belly, to how it caves slightly inward. She’s lost weight. It won’t do. Not for what I’m planning.
Leaning over her, I cup her stomach beneath my palm. My touch is both reverent and protective as I imagine that secret place of a woman where life grows. “I need to put a baby inside you, Sabella.”
My words have the effect of a glacier that crashes into a warm, tropical sea. Her eyes go wide. Wild. She pushes up on her elbows and closes her legs. Closes herself off to me. “You can’t be serious.”
She sits up and shoves me away.
The rejection is like a slap in the face. It stings, but I don’t give her the satisfaction of showing her how much that bothers me.
My actions are casual as I unbutton my waistcoat and slip the garment over my arms. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You want to bring a child into this?” She waves between us. “Whatever you call this agreement you’re parading to everyone as a marriage?”
I kick off my shoes and strip my socks. “I need an heir.” My pants and briefs follow next. “My father had a contract drawn up for this purpose.” Then my shirt. “You would’ve been familiar with the contents if your father hadn’t hidden it from you.”
“Do not bring my dad into this.” Her nostrils quiver. “Not now.”
“You can look it over. You’ll find it makes adequate provision for you and any children you’ll bear me. In fact, you’ll find me more than generous, but you’re welcome to add your own demands.”
“Do you hear yourself?” She studies me with a pitying look. “You’re talking about a human being, not an object whose life you can neatly project with a formal contract. A child needs a loving and safe environment.”
“Which he’ll have.”
“A child needs parents who love and respect each other, not a fucked-up business deal.”
“Your father didn’t do a great job of respecting your mother, and you turned out well enough.”
Hurt flashes through her eyes, making an expressive portrait of pain. It’s too raw to hide. I don’t like it. I don’t like that I did that to her with my words. “Sabella.”
She jumps up and heads toward the bathroom. “The answer is no, Angelo.”
Agitation pours into my veins. If she thinks she can shun me and have the last word, I have news for her. This is the bargain she struck on her knees before God. This is what she owes me. My father was good to me. I’ll be a good father too. I don’t give a fuck what she believes or thinks about me.
I catch her wrist. “I didn’t give you permission to speak my name.”
She looks back at me, her mouth dropping open. “So, I’m only to utter your holy name on command.”
Her spite is getting to me. I’ve got her too deeply under my skin. She affects me too much. “Correct. But you may use it freely when you come.”
“In that case,” she says with a stiff little smirk, “the answer is no, Mr. Russo.”
I lean closer, simultaneously pulling her hard enough to me to make our bodies collide. My armor is cruelty, my defense for her repeated rejection the power I hold over her.