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I have my sweatpants shoved down just far enough for my cock to pop out when I slam inside her. She chokes on the yelp that escapes her throat, and there’s a sick part of me that loves that I caught her off guard.
This time when I slide inside her, I don’t hesitate to fuck her the way I crave. I need it hard and fast, and her eyes only seem to heat up as I take what I want from her body.
Every thrust is harder than the last, making the desk beneath her scrape across the hardwood floors with the force of it.
“Ace,” she pants against my neck as she wraps her body around mine, holding on for dear life as I slam into her.
“Fuck, Mia,” I groan. “Your cunt is a fucking paradise. I could spend the rest of my goddamn life buried inside you and it would never be enough.”
I bite into her shoulder so hard the tang of copper touches my tongue, and it makes me rut harder. God, she’s so fucking receptive to me. Everything I give her, she takes.
The ding of the elevator drags a growl from my throat as I reposition us, careful to make sure there’s no way whoever is about to walk in can see anything they shouldn’t.
When I feel her body tense, I slow my thrusts, but I can’t bring myself to stop altogether. I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough of her sweet pussy.
Footsteps round the corner, and I growl as I look over my shoulder. “Get the fuck out.”
Todd, one of the security guys the Saint James family arranged, stands stunned in the entrance, his eyes looking anywhere but at the two of us. “There was a package delivered.”
Anger beats down on me, and if it wasn’t for the fact my cock is lodged inside Mia, I would have already torn this fucking asshole’s head off.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I snap. “If you’re not out of here in the next three seconds, I will tear your fucking eyeballs from their sockets and feed them to you.”
It’s not until I hear his footsteps retreat that some of the tension starts to fade from my body. I don’t want another man to look at my woman ever again, and the possessive need that remains is suffocating.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
MIA
I’m frozen in place. Panic rolls over me in ruthless waves, stealing the breath straight from my lungs. The idea of being watched, of having someone see me with Ace, puts me right back to a night I’ll never forget. To a night that will star in my nightmares for the rest of my life.
Tonight’s different.
I don’t know what it is, but the way Cyrus is treating me is almost too nice.
He gave me a full meal and didn’t punish me when I ate it.
He allowed me to shower myself, although under his watchful eye, and dress in an expensive-feeling nightgown with a matching robe.
And then when we were done in the bathroom, I wasn’t shoved back in the tiny room he keeps me in, barely big enough for the mattress I sleep on. Instead, he leads me through to the formal sitting room. A room I have never been permitted to step foot in.
I’m often allowed into the rest of the house, always supervised, and always for a set amount of time. But each time I’ve even dared to look at the plush looking couch and soft carpet, Cyrus has snapped at me.
I open my mouth to ask what we’re doing in here, but quickly snap it shut. I know better than to question anything he says or does. It never ends well for me, and I don’t think I can handle another one of his punishments.
My first owner was bad enough, but he wasn’t often violent. He had a perverse need for sweet and innocent, a role I could fill until I turned eighteen and he no longer found me suitable. The one that followed was violent, but nowhere near the level I’m faced with on a daily basis now. It was only when he was angry or drunk that he hurt me, the rest of the time, things weren’t so bad. Or at least I’ve realized it wasn’t since my time with Cyrus.
This is hell.
Hell in a fancy mansion with all the things I used to dream of surrounding me, even if I never get to touch or use them. Even if the premium meals that are prepared by the staff Cyrus employs never make it anywhere near my mouth.
Cyrus sits on the couch before nodding toward his feet.
I drop to my knees gracefully, a skill I learned in my first few weeks here. He forced me to practice repeatedly until my knees bled and my muscles ached to the point where I could barely stand for days.
I rest my hands on my knees, face up, and keep my eyes trained low. I’ve made the mistake of making eye contact too many times, and each time has earned me a beating. And that’s if I’m lucky.
The soft carpet beneath my knees is such a distinct contrast to the hardwood flooring throughout the rest of the house, and I allow myself to relax into it.
