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I let go of her hair and run my hand through it until I reach her neck, spreading my fingers around her thin spine before pressing them. The Brazilian's pupils become impossibly dilated as she opens her mouth for air when I squeeze her neck enough to cut off her airflow, but like the good slut she is, she silently suffocates.
I grab her waist, pressing my fingers into the soft, sweat-damp flesh. The chair to which she is tied drags across the floor with each move and our bodies follow the movements until the legs of the furniture hit the bed, meeting our destination.
The Brazilian woman's green eyes close while her throat moves in an effort to swallow her own despair. Her entire body trembles, overwhelmed by pain, pleasure and, most importantly, by her absolute submission to my will.
I change positions, loosening my grip on her neck at calculated intervals, allowing her to breathe for brief seconds before cutting off her air supply again, as I move her back and forth, on her back and side, always keeping her tied to the chair. The heat of the slut's arousal spirals into the air, making it hot and sticky as she writhes, squeezing my cock with her insides, begging for more in mute, deliberate lip movements.
I drink in each of her reactions, savoring every moan she doesn't give, every sound of pain and pleasure she swallows, every proof of my power over her. Tears stream down her face, smearing the makeup around her eyes and making her image an even bigger mess.
“Cum,” I order, keeping her breath closed, and she immediately obeys my order with her entire body, jerking in uncontrolled spasms without any sound other than the strong slaps of my hips against her ass filling the room.
That's why when a discreet knock is made on the bedroom door, I hear it. I let her breathe, taking my hand off her neck and returning it to her hair.
I know it couldn't be anyone other than one of my men, yet the interruption irritates me. I shout to get in without turning to the door, concentrating on the ass I'm fucking until I see the serious expression on Dario's face.
The man stops next to me, while my hips continue hammering the slut's ass, tearing it with each entry and exit, and says a single sentence in Italian, low enough for only me to hear.
“We have all the data on the thief, Don.” I frown, understanding dawning on me.
The information collected three days ago, when I arrived in Brazil, didn't make any sense. Since then, my goal has been to put together the pieces of the puzzle called Gabriella Matos before I can destroy it. The prospect of doing so excites me almost as much as the current scene.
I take one last look at the tied-up woman, not having reached orgasm doesn't even leave me with a twinge of disappointment. I force the hand that still holds her hair, pulling her head towards my mouth.
“The party is over for today,” I whisper, and she whines a frustrated complaint. “You will be paid when you leave.” These are the words with which I say goodbye before taking my dick out of her ass and turning to leave the room with Dario. “Someone untie and pay the whore.” I order in the living room of the hotel suite as I walk to the room across the hall, where our operations center has been set up.
CHAPTER 10
________
Gabriella Matos
“Hi, Andressa,” I say, just poking my head into the office. The dark-skinned, curly-haired woman looks away from the computer screen and toward the door, where I am.
Her expression changes immediately upon seeing me, she goes from focused to annoyed in a matter of seconds, and I wonder if I shouldn't have waited a little longer. Apparently, four days weren't enough to make her forget the episode at the triplex.
“Gabriella,” she says, with a cold tone in her voice.
I let out a long sigh before pushing the door open and placing my entire body inside the small room, almost empty of furniture and overcrowded by the white walls. I walk to Andressa's table under her watchful gaze, the rectangular glasses with dark brown frames on the tip of her nose make watching her even more intimidating.
“I'm sorry,” I apologize again. “I know I already said that, but I really didn't mean to. Never in a thousand years would I have imagined that someone would arrive at the house at five in the morning, catch me in my lingerie in the kitchen and mistake me for one of the guy's girlfriends. I just needed to drink water, Andressa.” She stares at me in silence for several seconds before pursing her lips primly.
“Gabriella, you know I cannot tolerate this type of behavior. I trusted you and you let me down. Do you have any idea what could have happened if this had spread?”
“Andressa—" I start, but she raises her hand, interrupting me before I can say another word.
“No! There's no justification, Gabriella. There simply isn't.” I nod, knowing that as much as I hate this, she's right. The fear of losing this job definitely makes my stomach turn cold, and I swallow hard, worried. “Can we agree on something?”
“What?”
“From now on, you try to remain fully dressed the entire time you are at clients' homes. Good? I didn't think I needed to tell anyone this, I always believed it was obvious, but, Gabriela, if you don't take your uniform off your body, it's impossible to lose it.” I have at least ten different responses to this comment, but I swallow them all.
“Does that mean I still have a job?”
“You still have freelance gigs, Gabriella. We do not have an employment contract.” She's in a hurry to point out, and I shake my head faster than a rocket.
God forbid she thinks I want to pull some kind of scam and never call me again. I just got my non-job back, I can't lose it again, and definitely not so quickly.
“Of course, of course!” I say when nodding starts to make me dizzy. “Do you think you can pay me a day or two in advance, Andressa? My sister came home, things got tighter, she needs some basic medicine,” I ask, with my heart in my hand and shame in my foot. Embarrassment is not a luxury I can have.
