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I made an involuntary sound in my throat, holding back laughter.
“I was waiting for you to bring this up,” I eyed her with what I knew was an uncomfortable amount of scrutiny. Nothing I said would make this news better.
“Have I personally been with Eva? No. She’s a bit below me, but you won’t find a lot of married men around here that don’t know her in some sort of way.”
Her brows slanted inward as the implication became clear.
“Is that your nice way of calling my sister a whore?”
“Well, I’m certainly not saying she wasn’t a whore. If the dick fits…” I let her finish that statement, picking up my drink.
“And grams? My uncle?”
“Your grandmother is on a little vacation. Your uncle is likely scrounging for money to aide his addiction since I cut him off.”
Gripping the edge of the table, she slowly inched her chair back.
“You’re an asshole.”
“I know,” I replied somberly.
“I’m also confused. Explain to me how you asked me these questions and because I’m giving you honest answers…I’m an asshole?”
“Fuck you.” She stood from her chair and glared down at me.
“You have a very salacious mouth.” I formed a triangle with my fingers and rested them against my lips.
Shaking her head, she turned and quickly left the room.
Chapter Fifteen
With a firm grip on my forearm, he spun me around.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snapped, trying to pull away.
He let go just to subdue both of my wrists in an iron grip with one hand. His other found its way beneath my cotton dress, going straight to my lace underwear.
“I’m going to give you a small reprieve.”
He stroked right over my sensitive nub once, twice, and then roughly pulled the fabric to the side.
“I don’t need a reprieve; I want you to let go of me. Not everything is about sex.”
“You’re right. We’re about much more than that. But don’t fucking lie to me. Your pussy most certainly wants some relief; you’re soaking, amada.”
“Isn’t it incredible how you react to the most immoral confessions?” He pushed two thick digits inside me, and then added a third, causing a groan to escape from my throat.
I hated how right he was.
His fingers pumped in and out at a rapid speed, going knuckle deep each and every time. My finger-nails dug into my palms. He watched me closely as I struggled to contain my mounting pleasure––the slick sloshing sound from between my legs betraying me.
“Stop,” I breathed, trying to wriggle away, only worsening my predicament as he forced my legs wider.
“Come,” he countered, pushing in so deep I whimpered.
“Sir, the Serbans have just passed through the gates.”
Alfredo’s cultured voice was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over my head.
