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She’s never looked more beautiful. Mine.
“Baby, I—”
“Come for me.” With my lips at her ear, I nuzzle just below as two fingers press on her trembling bundle of nerves. She curses, strains against me, but when my teeth clamp down on her neck and hold, she comes. Wave after wave passes through, and I feel her pleasure as if it were my own. Her walls milk me. Pull me in deeper. “Fuck, sweetheart. Your pussy feels so good.”
“God.” It’s a short gasp, she shudders and cries, her hips pumping against mine, but when she whispers a keening, I love you there’s no holding back.
“Son of a bitch,” I hiss and let go of her neck, my hips flush to her asscheeks. I’m held captive, unable to so much as breathe, while she pulls every last drop from my cock with nothing but the never-ending aftershocks of her own orgasm. “Just like that, Venus. You beautiful little treasure.”
She doesn’t respond. My girl looks so tired.
Instead, I cuddle up close while turning us slightly, my cock resting deep within her walls. We’re a mess; sweaty and breathing hard but stay like that until her breathing evens out. And I close my eyes too, not to sleep but to enjoy her just like this.
No outside world.
No commitments.
No familial ties.
I need you home with me, Venus.
28
“Again, Aliana. Aim for the middle.”
“It’s harder than it looks,” she grumbles two days later while staring at the target set up near the back of our property. What’s mine is hers. Forty-eight hours where I kept her my prisoner, my personal toy—where I pulled orgasm after orgasm from her lithe body, and then licked every drop. Her pussy is the sweetest fruit, and I can’t help but want more. All of her. “Quit laughing!”
“Breathe.”
“You breathe.” Her attitude is quite adorable, but she’s too tense—afraid and avoiding the giant elephant in the room as if it were the plague reborn. I haven’t asked about the theft after that first night; I’ve let her stew in her thoughts while silently letting her know I’m here when she’s ready.
The tick of the clock is her enemy, though. Tomorrow we leave, and I’m adamant about two things with a bonus stipulation: I’m going to destroy her father, and she has a month to settle her affairs stateside while not complaining about the added security.
This isn’t up for negotiation.
We ran through that road already: where I gave in, and it got her here.
So much could’ve gone wrong had Giannis not spoken to me. Moreover, had I not sent in Giannis’s boyfriend and Kray, they would’ve been caught and dumped inside of a Brazilian jail cell where so much could’ve gone wrong before I’d been notified.
That piece of shit she calls Dad, wouldn’t have done anything to help her. Of that, I am one hundred percent sure.
For his part, though, Mr. Martin kept his expression neutral when his boyfriend helped them get out unseen—or worse, arrested. Aliana didn’t recognize him or Kray standing guard not too far from them while paid rioters distracted the military guards that night.
“Again.”
“Why is it so easy on TV?” She squints her right eye, trying to focus. “What aren’t you teaching me?”
I take a step forward, and she freezes.
Silly girl doesn’t understand that I’m not mad at her. Never her.
My ire is directed at her father and his pig-shit schemes involving Aliana.
“Relax.” Moving in behind her, I raise her arms a little higher and then anchor a hand at her hip, showing her how to keep a better center of gravity. Because while shooting is an art form, making the gun an extension of you is important. The more you tense up, the harder your reaction will be to the recoil.
There’s a difference between locking your arms and being afraid.
“Easy for you to say,” she complains, but lets me manipulate her into position. We stay like that for a few seconds, letting her get used to the weight and feel of the custom Glock in her hands. “Can you count me down?”
