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I approached the small kitchen island and took the other full glass without taking a drink.
She gripped the edge of the counter, her eyes not on me but somewhere else altogether.
I didn’t interrogate her because I knew the information would flow naturally. Just had to give her time.
“He said he would kill me if he ever saw me again.” She didn’t look at me as she said it, like she was too embarrassed to admit the truth, not just to me, but herself. “My own father…” A sarcastic laugh escaped her lips, short and brief, bitter.
This was the moment people said they were sorry, but it didn’t feel right to say that now. It was hollow and pointless.
“I would have killed him right then and there, but I didn’t have the means.”
I wanted to break my word and do the dirty work for her. Break his skull in her name. But if I didn’t break my word for my men, I couldn’t do it for her. I was in hot water as it was. Already looking over my shoulder every time I turned a corner.
“And Victor…he hasn’t changed one bit.”
Her wine was cheap and barely tolerable, but I drank it anyway. I preferred hard liquor, but I respected fine wine, the kind stored in cellars for decades, the kind picked from the best harvests in France and Italy.
She took another drink, finishing the glass. “I guess it’s over…” Her eyes finally lifted to mine.
“I wish I could fix this for you.”
Her eyes softened. “I know you do.” She came around the kitchen island and slid her hands up my arms, snuggling into my body, her perky tits right against my chest. Her arms circled myneck, and she rested her forehead against my chin. The smell of springtime washed over me, coming from her skin and her hair. “But I’m happy to be home with you.”
My arm circled her waist, while the other slid underneath her dress, over that fine ass and to the bare skin of her lower back. I enveloped her against me, keeping her close as I closed my eyes, feeling all the pain in my heart stop for a moment in time. I was the kind of man to hold a grudge—and hold it forever. But I wasn’t angry with her anymore. All that resentment and rage had been replaced by a calming sense of peace.
She pulled her head back and tilted her chin to look at me, her lips slightly parted and her eyes eager. A tint was already in her cheeks from the wine, and her partially painted lips practically begged me to kiss her. I must have taken too long admiring the view, because she cupped my cheek and rose as high as she could on her tiptoes so she could kiss me.
My hand squeezed her ass as I pulled her into me. Her kiss was soft and gentle, but I took over and made it rough and hard. Our tongues danced together. Our breaths grew short. My hand continued to squeeze both cheeks under her dress.
No woman had ever made me harder.
My fingers grabbed her little thong and yanked it down to her thighs before I lifted her onto the kitchen counter. The glasses rolled off and shattered on the other side of the kitchen island. The bottle tipped over, and wine dumped onto the floor with a loud splatter.
Neither one of us noticed.
With her dress hiked to her waist, I tugged down my bottoms before I pulled her close.
I pushed inside, making myself right at home.
She gave a loud moan as she held on to me, her head rolled back, her hair everywhere. She lay back across the counter, and I pushed the dress higher, revealing the bottom swell of her sexy tits. I yanked it a little higher until I could see the sharp nipples.
With my hands on her hips, I fucked her on the kitchen counter, hard all the way through, never letting up. I made her mine all over again, pounded into her so hard her tits shook.
When she said my name, it started as a whisper, but by the time I made her come, it was a scream.
The romp in the kitchen wasn’t enough.
We made it into the bedroom, and now she did all the fucking. Her palms were planted against my chest as she rocked her hips, rolling them forward and back, taking my dick with expert precision every time. Now her dress was off, so those tits were right in my face, covered with a layer of sweat that smelled like roses.
I was propped against the headboard, my hands on her hips, enjoying the sheath of her pussy over and over. It was like old times, our clandestine meetings in a dark hotel room, fucking like it was the first time we’d sunk our teeth into each other.
Her movements became inconsistent. So did her breaths, which turned shallow and short. Her eyes grew heavy, and her pants turned into incoherent moans—and then cries. The shimmer in her eyes was like dew on a winter morning. It shone in the early light and twinkled like Christmas lights. Then her hips buckeduncontrollably as she screamed. Her nails sharpened and dug deep into my flesh like little daggers. Her body gripped mine with the strength of a viper, squeezing harder and harder.
I’d waited long enough, so I enjoyed my high just as she finished hers. It’d been nearly a decade since I’d filled a woman, and it was addictive to have that luxury again. Nothing made me feel more like a man than fucking Laura like this, her ass right on my balls, her skin against mine, our come mixed together.
She got off me then lay beside me, naked on top of the sheets, her beautiful skin glistening from her effort. Propped on one elbow as she was, the curves of her body were on display, and despite the fact that my dick had gone to rest, I was still turned on by the way she looked. When I’d looked at that naked hooker in the hotel room, I’d been so unaroused I’d felt like I was staring at another man.
I reached for my pants at the bedside and pulled out the cigar and lighter. I lit up without asking for permission because she’d granted it a long time ago. Against the headboard I smoked, and she lay there quietly, the two of us enjoying the comfortable silence.
