A self-satisfied laugh ripples in my ear. “Two for two. That didn’t take long.”
Bastard.
He starts fucking me deeply from behind. Slowly, with measured, intentional movements, making us both shudder and groan with every thrust. My breasts rub against the countertop, my nipples tingling at the friction, my hands gripping the island for traction as my hips pound against the edge. I’ll probably have bruises tomorrow, but I don’t care.
“You filthy, dirty whore. Look at you, spreading your legs for me. I’m barely inside you for two seconds before you’re coming all over my cock. And I’m about to make you come again. Admit it, Francesca. You want this.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughs again. “Fuck me? Oh, you are. And you’re doing it so well.”
Jesus Christ. Another orgasm flashes, quick and hot. I can’t moan or move, suspended by the force of the pleasure. He rides me through it, his cock swelling, growing harder. Stretching me to the limit. It’s over all too soon, but my clit pulses and pouts with the rise of yet another orgasm as Dante thrusts hard. Once. Twice.
“I love fucking my whore. Pounding that tight little pussy, making you scream.”
Fuck. I come again. So hard that my body shakes, the orgasm almost painful this time.
Dante digs his fingers into my hips and slams into me so deep, I feel like he’s splitting me apart. I squeeze my eyes shut as he finally lets go with a groan, his face pushed into my shoulder. I feel so shaky, I don’t know how I’m still standing.
Looking up, I catch his reflection in the window as he lifts his head from me. His face is etched with emotion. He looks utterly decimated. Devastated by what he’s just done. Or maybe it’s just regret.
Quickly pulling out, Dante turns away to throw out the used condom and adjust his clothes. I’m still struggling to tug my pants back up when he throws a dish towel at me. It lands on the island, and I look over at him.
“If your husband wants to negotiate with me, he can do it himself,” Dante says. His mask is back on, his expression cold. Completely devoid of anything but distaste. “I don’t negotiate with cheating whores.”
For a moment I’m speechless, before managing an affronted, “Excuse me?”
“Go on and bring him around. He can watch me fuck your brains out if he wants.”
With that, he glides out the door, leaving me to clean myself up.
I do the best I can, shaking the entire time.
13
Frankie
I sit tenderlyin the saddle as I guide Ytse in a slow walk back to the Abbott compound. My mind and emotions are in a tumble after leaving Dante, but I still have enough clarity to recognize screaming when I hear it. It sounds like a woman, or a young girl.
Livvie?
Adrenaline rushing through me, I spur Ytse to a gallop. We’ve just crossed over the property line when the noise of a diesel truck and lots of shouting reach my ears. Something’s going on at the house. As I get closer, my fears are confirmed. I clearly recognize my little sister’s voice. She’s crying, pleading with someone.
My heart lurches to my throat as I squeeze Ytse’s sides even tighter with my calves. Comprehending right away, he picks up his pace, clearing the ground in long strides. I’m gripping the reins so tightly now, my fingers are going numb.
We crest the ridge behind the stables just in time to see a few rough-looking men loading what’s left of the Abbott Friesian stock onto a huge horse trailer. Scanning for Livvie, I see her cornered against the outside wall of the building. She’s beside herself, screaming, tears streaming down her face as she’s held back by a burly guy who doesn’t seem to care that her entire world is coming apart. I’m going to be sick.
What the fuck is going on?
This has to be Dad’s fault. It always is.
I nudge Ytse down the ridge, kicking up gravel as we make our way toward Livvie. I realize my mistake all too late as one of the men points at me.
“That’s the missing one!” he calls to the others as he jogs over, his beefy hand taking hold of Ytse’s bridle. “We got ‘em all now.”
Before I know it, I’m pulled off my horse, my struggling and protests no match for the man who has his hands on me. Rage has my pulse rushing in my ears, my skin itching all over. It takes all my willpower to stop myself from fighting back, kicking and screaming. But I don’t want anything to happen to my sister, so I hold still, breathing hard, and wait it out.
There’s nothing I can do but watch as they roughly remove Ytse’s bridle and saddle before shoving a halter over his head and leading him into the trailer, alongside the leggy four-year-old that Livvie’s been training for dressage.
