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He can fuck right off. Cringing inwardly, I set my knees apart and put myself on display like he wants. I give him the show he demands by rubbing my clit with two fingers pressed together.
As always, a spark of pleasure ignites at the touch. A glance over my shoulder almost stills me. He’s pumping into his fist while fondling his sac in his free hand. Lust burns hot in his black eyes as he watches my hand between my legs. Every perfectly cut muscle in his powerful body is taut, drawing a striking picture of masculinity. The wolves on his chest come alive, snarling viciously when those muscles bunch. Beneath his broad shoulders and hard pecs his washboard stomach is flat. The V of his groin runs deep. The cursive letters inked above his hipline sum him up in a single word. Resilience. Strong legs with big calves are well proportioned. The dark hair that covers his legs grows denser around his groin. His cock juts out proudly, the head already slick with pre-cum.
I don’t want the image to arouse me, but the heat spreading through my belly is an involuntary reaction. Finally, it’s not the ministrations of my own hand that turns me wet. It’s how my body responds to the visual sight of him getting himself ready. It’s simple nature, one body reacting to the arousal of another, and he’s not unaffected. He likes what he sees. I test the theory by sinking a finger inside, studying him from over my shoulder. His jaw bunches as he pumps faster into his fist. When I pull my finger out and slowly push deeper, he utters a growl.
His voice is guttural, rough like an animal’s. “You’ve gotten yourself so wet it’s dripping down your thighs.” He steps up and traces my crease with the head of his cock. “Such a dirty girl.” He fastens a hand on my hip. “Spread your legs wider and push out your ass. Show me what a good job you can do of presenting yourself for my cock.”
When I don’t move, he plants his hands on my inner thighs and pushes them apart as far as they can go. His cock brushes against my glute as he puts a palm between my shoulders and applies pressure. I have to pull my hand from between my legs to catch myself when he continues to press down until my upper body is flattened on the mattress.
“There,” he says. “Just like that. Fuck, Sabella. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Pinching my eyes shut, I press my cheek against the covers. I tense when he buries his fingers in the flesh of my hips. Anticipation ripples through me as he parts my folds with the broad head of his cock. Knowing what’s to come doesn’t prepare me for the pleasure as he slides all the way in. Holding me in place, he rubs his groin against my ass and keeps still. My body welcomes the intrusion, my inner muscles already clenching around him.
“That’s right, dirty girl,” he says with a groan. “Milk my cock. You’re so hot when you beg without words.”
I tune him out, trying not to listen to his wicked praise, because he’s moving, and it’s all I can focus on. I can only hold on, clawing at the bedsheets as he pulls almost all the way out before slamming back again. He pumps his hips with a leisurely pace, dragging his cock over sensitive nerve endings and punctuating each thrust with a slap on the fleshy part of my right ass cheek. The sting doesn’t hurt as much as it heats my skin, and strangely, it makes me hotter. Needier.
Taking what I need, I push back when he thrusts. The fall of his palm on my ass is rhythmic, matching the pace of his pumping. Intense need throbs between my legs. I can’t get enough. He swaps hands, gripping my right hip to tan my left globe while timing the rhythm. I’m burning up on the inside and the outside, but he doesn’t allow me to go faster. He keeps me still, the force of his fingers bruising, while taking me at his own sweet pace.
My inner walls clench hard. He utters a curse but maintains the lazy pivoting of his hips. His palms no longer heat the skin of my ass. Instead, he massages my globes, wiping away the burn. Digging his fingers into my sensitive flesh, he spreads my ass cheeks and drives home with enough force to wrench a gasp from my lungs.
Finally, he gives me what I want. He bends over me and slips a hand around my waist and between my legs to massage my clit in circular movements. His pace doesn’t falter as he quickly and effectively brings me to the edge before violently pushing me over.
An orgasm rips through me at the same time as he surges deep and stills. Warmth bathes me inside. My release is instantaneous and powerful, leaving me legless and weak. When he pulls out and pins me in place to watch his seed leak from my body, I don’t have the energy to fight him.
“You’re so pretty with my handprints on your ass and my cum dripping down your thighs,” he says, finally letting me go.
I collapse flat on the bed, shame not only for the crass remark but also for how cold it leaves me creeping over my cheeks. His feet are quiet on the floor. I don’t need to open my eyes to know he’s gone. The water that comes on in the bathroom confirms it. That’s how he leaves me—discarded after being used.
I take a moment to catch my breath. To deal with the aftermath. I’ve long since accepted the awful fact that I find pleasure in the arms of my dad’s killer. It doesn’t make me feel less despicable. It’s just another bitter pill to swallow.
The room is warm, but I shiver. I’m about to get off the bed when Angelo returns. I feel him rather than hear him as he stops next to me. Despite my better judgement, I open my eyes. He stands tall and proud, the familiar hatred as he studies me darkening his eyes.
“Get up,” he says.
Fear knots my stomach. “Why?”
“It’s late. I have a long day of work ahead. I need my sleep.”
“Then sleep,” I say, unable to keep the bite from my tone.
The smile that curves his lips doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re sleeping in my room. Come.”
He doesn’t wait. He goes ahead and opens the interconnecting door, knowing I’ll follow.
It takes effort to peel myself off the bed. Steeling my spine, I say to his back, “I’ll shower first.”
He turns to face me, that evil grin intact. “You won’t.”
I gape at him. He can’t be serious. I know what he said, but he can’t expect me to crawl into bed with a sticky skin and his cum drying on my thighs.
His eyes crinkle in the corners. “You should’ve begged when you had the chance. It’s too late now. Come before I decide to drag you in here.”
Turning his back on me, he walks through the door. I stand rooted to the spot, disbelief and a hot wave of fresh anger running through me.
“Sabella,” he says from the other room. “Now.”
“I need to get my pajamas.”
