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I thrust deeper, halfway in.
“You want it all, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She wriggles beneath me. There’s desperation in her voice.
Driving me crazy. Please, Caz!
“Out loud,” I murmur, sliding my thumb over her jaw and chin.
Her eyes shoot up to mine, her legs wrapping around my waist. She uses her legs to guide me deeper, and I let her because I can’t resist either. I’m as hard as a rock, swollen and throbbing, wanting so badly to fill her with my come.
“Please make me come,” she finally says, and I loosen my grip around her throat, burying myself deeper. When I jerk back and stroke deep again, her body bucks, and a sharp gasp bursts out of her. Her fingernails drag down my arms as her back arches again, and then she crumbles beneath me, crying my name. The sticky noises are louder and her grip around me is insane. When I look down, my dick is wetter, milky at the base.
“Shit, Willow. Look what you’ve done. Look how wet you are for me.” I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and bring her upward just enough to look at me again. Her warm brown eyes latch with mine, and that look, as well as her pussy gripping my dick, is enough to make me detonate. “You’re so beautiful when you come.” She clasps my face in her hands, kissing me again.
Oh, fuck. Now I’m about to come.
Come for me, baby.
Love of Vakeeli, her voice. A groan bursts out of me, and I pull out just before I cum, gripping my pulsing dick, jacking it, and letting the semen spill on her pelvis. Some of it drips through the lips of her pussy and witnessing it makes me groan. I lower the tip of my dick, running it through the slickness. She twitches and moans as the tip of my dick meets her clit, then cups the back of my neck, bringing me down low enough to kiss me. Her lips are soft and warm. Sweet. Fuck, she’severything.
“You’re bad.” She shudders again when I skim the head of my softening dick over her clit. If I wasn’t going soft, I’d put it in again. “Now find me a new pair of panties because these are most definitely ruined.”
Seventy-One
WILLOW
Caz savesme a ton of embarrassment by asking Della to find panties for me. She goes into the village for some and returns within twenty minutes with several pair in a paper bag.
Afterward, Caz leads me to his bedroom, and it’s nothing like the other rooms. For starters, his room is enormous. The walls are painted black, including the ceiling. Two sharp-bladed fans hang from the ceiling on opposite sides of the rooms, and a large bed is positioned against the north wall. To my right is a tall black curtain. Caz walks over to separate the velvet curtains and reveals floor to ceiling windows, and just outside the windows is a balcony made of wood with steel railings. I take a look out at the black sea, the water rippling. There’s nothing but water for miles and miles, dark waves that are alluring yet terrifying beneath the gray sky.
“So…this is your room,” I say, looking around. A gray recliner is in one of the corners, next to a nightstand stacked haphazardly with books. Just around the corner is a bathroom, the walls gray, with a large silver tub—large enough to fit at least four people.His shower is built into the corner—no curtain, just a glass wall and a large silver showerhead.
“This is my room,” he confirms, looking around with me.
“It’s nice.”
“Yes. It’s unfortunate that I don’t get to spend much time in it.”
“Why not?”
“Work. Running an entire territory. Blackwater Tavern. I always have my hands full.”
I press my lips. Makes sense. Still, I’d never leave a bedroom like this. I run a hand over his bedding. It’s fluffy and soft, his pillows cool to the touch. My eyes travel up the wall the bed is against, at the portraits hung there. This wall is made of gray wood paneling, the portraits hanging in sections. There are five portraits total, all of them sharp, dark, abstract designs of horses and guns, except the one in the middle, which stands out most.
I focus on the picture in the middle, of a woman and a boy. The woman has dark skin like mine, her hair as dark as the wings of a raven, wild and curly around the edges, the rest collected into one single braid that rests on her shoulder. A smile graces her lips, similar to the Mona Lisa smile—there, but just a whisper of it.
She’s in an emerald dress and she’s holding the hand of a boy. The boy doesn’t look any older than six or seven. He’s smiling hard and missing a tooth. His hair is just as dark as hers, and he has the woman’s eyes—icy blue and bold. He’s barefoot in black trousers and an ivory shirt. He looks happy…and I know exactly who he is.
“Is that your mother?” I ask, turning to look back at Caz.
“It is.”
“Wow.” I face the portrait again. “She’s gorgeous.”
“She was quite beautiful.”
The question from earlier hits me again.What happened to her? Where is she now?
