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Giselle began to rock those hips, drawing herself along my length in an agonizingly slow rhythm. She had to keep her hands on my abdomen to help keep herself upright, and every so often she winced, as if her midsection was hurting her.
Come to think of it, it looked a little bruised. I let my eyes fall to that spot on her stomach, wondering if there was more to the story she hadn’t said, if Miguel had hurt her while she’d been in his clutches in that warehouse.
Fuck. I was going to kill that motherfucker.
My breathing turned ragged, and my thoughts of rage toward Miguel and what he could’ve possibly done to her were taken over by the way Giselle rocked above me. Her white skin flushed pink, her cheeks rosy as she moved, her tits bouncing with each rock of her hips. All the while her pussy stayed tight, clamped around my cock, milking me for all I was worth.
She set the pace. She was in charge. She was the one on top, and even with that bruised scab and that damp hair, she was still an angel, gorgeous in her fury.
I knew it then. I knew it. I’d been fighting it for a while, I think, probably since that first night at the Playground, maybe even since I’d first seen her at that Black Hand party downtown. The girl in white, the only white in a sea of black.
It was an almost painful realization. Somehow, someway, it had happened. Sometime during our fleeting conversations, during our passion at the Playground, sometime during the roller coaster of finding out she was engaged and then secretly married to Luca Moretti, I’d fallen for her.
I was in love with her. Hopelessly. Foolishly. Irrevocably. It wasn’t the kind of love you had for someone after dating them for so long; it wasn’t a natural progression. This love had come out of nowhere, took me by the throat, and forced itself upon me, and its nature was so strong I had no choice but to bend to its will.
I had to clench my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching for her, to stop myself from grabbing her thighs and squeezing, from rolling her onto her back and taking charge. God, I wanted nothing more than to tell her what I’d just realized, but now… after everything she’d gone through today, it probably wasn’t the best time.
So, I’d let her do what she needed to do. I’d let her decide how and how long, how fast we went, and when we stopped. When things calmed down, when we had the chance to breathe, maybe then I’d tell her.
Giselle was a goddess above me. Our position, with her on top, threw me back to our second time together at the Playground. Only this time things felt more real, we were each laid bare, no masks to give us a sliver to hide behind. No pretending. This was real and there was no denying it.
Time ceased to matter. It could’ve been hours or it could’ve been minutes. I didn’t care. I’d stay locked in this position with Giselle if given the choice, let the world around us fade away until it was just the two of us.
Unfortunately, sooner or later the pressure inside reached a boiling point, and I couldn’t push off the orgasm if I tried.
And I didn’t try.
When I felt that familiar swelling of my balls, my hips began to rock under her. Didn’t really do much, but I couldn’t quite control it. It was that pre-orgasm feeling, where your body did whatever it wanted until that release finally arrived.
And when it came, it fucking came. The orgasm slammed into me, my body spasming beneath Giselle’s, my cock spewing its seed directly into her core and coating her inner walls with my cum. A low moan escaped me, my body shuddering at the powerful release.
I cracked open my eyes after that, finding Giselle hadn’t slowed. She kept up the same pace she had before I’d come, only now her pussy was slick with my cum. My cock disappeared into her core with every bounce of that lithe body.
Hey, if she wanted to keep going, who was I to stop her? If she wanted to go all fucking day, then we’d go all fucking day.
The only thing that sucked, the only thing I’d change about this if I could, was that she didn’t want me touching her. I wanted nothing more than to drag my hands all over that body and take in the smooth curves, the soft skin, every single inch of it.
But I would never push her. If this was all she was comfortable with right now, then this was what we’d do.
I did, on the one hand, find it odd that she’d touched Damian’s arm. A stupid thing to be jealous of—especially stupid since she basically had an army of men at her disposal who, I was pretty damn sure, were in the same boat as me—but not something I could control.
Jealousy over a touch on the arm. It’s stupid. It’s fucking ridiculous.
It had to be goddamned love.
Chapter Three – Giselle
Maybe sex wasn’t something I should want right now, after… well, after Miguel did what he did. But at the same time, I wanted to make a more recent memory, one where I was in charge of the whole thing. Be with someone else to wipe away the feeling of those hands and that dick.
Miguel thought he’d scar me, hurt me one last time before handing me over to a group he assumed would kill me. He was fucking wrong. I would not let him win.
Cade was more than willing. Of course he was. He was my dragon man, my mysterious masked stranger. He was everything I could want, everything any straight girl would crave. He’d helped me overcome my past once, and now, albeit unwittingly, he was helping me again.
I was on top. I moved how I wanted to move, at the pace I wanted, and I’d continue to do so for as long as I wished. The man had come once; we’d see if I couldn’t get him to come again.
My stomach hurt from what Miguel had done to me, but I pushed through the pain. I’d spent three years of my life in pain and misery, going from day to day like a damned zombie. I could handle the pain. I could ignore it. I’d lived with it for that long, and I’d live with it until I died. Some pain never truly went away. Sometimes it stayed with you, clung to you like a repressed memory, always there, ready to sting.
My skin was on fire. My breathing had turned hard and erratic, but I couldn’t stop. I had to keep going. Cade was as attractive as ever beneath me, and the man did his best to keep his arms over his head—he was probably happy there were no handcuffs involved this time. It meant he wouldn’t be stuck to the bed if I ran away.
