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)
I plant one palm on her lower back and spread her with the other, digging my fingers into her ass cheek as I watch my cum dribble from her dark hole. It’s so fucking dirty. So beautiful. I watch until her pussy and thighs are covered. My softening cock that hangs heavy between my legs twitch at the sight. I pin her down as I smear my fingers through my release and pump my cum with two fingers into her pussy. She spasms around the intrusion, her panting increasing as I fuck her harder and faster. I know what she needs. I know this isn’t enough. Pulling my drenched fingers free from the hotness of her pussy, I roll her clit between a thumb and a forefinger until her body bows and her moans turn hoarse.
She orgasms.
But I don’t stop.
I punish her with more pleasure, rolling and pinching her clit until she collapses flat on the table in a boneless heap. I’m insatiable. I can’t get enough, not of her. My cock is rock-hard again. I slide the length through the cum in the seam of her ass. The lubrication aids my movements when I pump between her ass cheeks, taking care not to penetrate her again. I’m so high on her and on the sight that it doesn’t take long before I come for a second time, painting her back with ribbons of release.
It’s done.
I won’t come a third time.
I should be sated. I should be ecstatic, but it feels unfinished.
I’m not done.
I want to do so much more to her. Fucking her didn’t quench my lust. The need to claim her is only fiercer. And I know why. I understand now. I understand why I want to slay her with sex until we’re both exhausted and choking on the perversity of the passion eating me alive. Because even as she gave me the most intimate parts of her body, she didn’t give herself to me.
Like this morning, she didn’t call me Angelo.
She called me Mr. Russo again.
She’s putting distance between us and keeping that distance. I’d lie if I say I don’t miss the sound of my name on her lips and the way in which she said it when I fucked her after our wedding.
For that reason alone, I put my own distance between us. Mine is physical. Mine is the two steps I take away from her. She’s bent over the table, her ass and cunt exposed, both fucked raw. Spent. A beautiful erotic sight. It softens me, igniting something in my chest. Escaping the onslaught, I stumble to the sink and clean myself before adjusting my clothes.
I hear her move, but I force myself not to look at her. Instead, I clench my jaw as I zip up, hating myself and hating her. I shove my shirt back into my pants and pick my jacket up from the floor.
I’m pulling it on with jerky movements on my way to the door when she says, “Wait.”
Before I can stop myself, I look. It’s impulsive. She’s facing me, leaning with her ass against the edge of the table. Her naked tits peek out from between her T-shirt and her bra. Her lower body is exposed. She’s gripping the elastic of her pants, battling to pull them up and cover herself.
Fuck.
I spin around and continue on my way.
“Wait, please,” she calls after me. “I have to talk to you. It’s important.”
I don’t wait. I don’t listen. I don’t look at her.
If I do, I may stay again. There’s nothing my foolish heart wants more than another night in her bed. So, I train my gaze on the door, and I keep on walking.
Chapter
Fifteen
Sabella
* * *
My husband doesn’t give me a chance to tell him someone—I suspect a child—broke into the house. He slams the door behind him and goes without locking it, leaving me used and naked and drenched in his cum in the kitchen.
I feel a mess.
I am a mess.
I don’t get it. Last night, when he asked for my advice, he gave me the impression that my opinion mattered to him. He gave me the idea that we could have peace if not happiness, but that notion now lies shattered at my feet.
I should’ve known better than to hope for something less ugly than the hate between us. I’ve been stupid and naïve. It’s not a mistake I’ll repeat. I won’t make myself that vulnerable again.
When I’ve scavenged the energy to peel myself off the table, I shower and cook pasta for dinner. My grumbling stomach insists that I feed it. After eating, I dress in warm clothes and go outside to look for the child that climbed through my window, but I don’t have a torch, and the night is moonless. I almost break my neck twice by falling over the rocks. When I nearly walk over the edge of a cliff, I admit defeat and turn home. I make sure the windows are closed but leave the one that was forced open a crack. Then I settle on the sofa with a blanket and wait.