Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 118333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
The sound of voices made me freeze. It wasn’t until I forced the rage aside that I realized my mouth was hovering just above Adelita’s. Her skin was flushed and her tits were pressed right against my bare chest. Big Mexican tits pushing against my solid black swastika tattoo.
“Get your Nazi hands off me.” Adelita spoke slowly and quietly. “My guards are about to come around the corner. And if they see you touching me they will shoot you.” I opened my mouth to tell her that I didn’t care. That I wasn’t scared by the guards who held guns and pretended they were someone in this clusterfuck of a world, but she beat me to it. “Papa wants this deal to go through. I suggest you—” she put her lips closer to my ear “—get the fuck off me, Prince Ayers.” The smell of roses sailed past my nose from the perfume on her neck.
Hearing Vincente’s voice getting louder, I rolled back off Adelita and sat down on the lounger. Vincente and three other guards re-entered the pool area seconds later. Vincente instantly looked to Adelita. He spoke to her in Spanish, and she replied. She was holding her book again, a smile on her face and lipstick righted from where it had smudged. At least most of it was.
Almost back to the perfect princess she pretended to be, but I knew she wasn’t. I saw the cracks.
As Vincente glared at me, then walked away, I leaned over and said, “Your lipstick’s smudged, princess.” I smirked as her rabid dark eyes slammed to mine. “You look like a whore.” I jumped to my feet and stormed across the poolside until I was in the guest suites. I slammed the door shut and practically ran to the shower. I squeezed my eyes shut as I let the water wash away the coconut from my skin, the mint and rose scent. Wash Adelita’s touch, her fucking impure touch, off my body . . . and her taste from my mouth. The mint and sweetness and the fucking feel of her whorish tongue sliding next to mine. The feel of her tits against my chest and her between my legs. Releasing the rage that had been building since she’d walked out to the pool . . . fuck—since I’d arrived in this piece of Mexican hell—I curled my hand into a fist and sent it sailing into the wall. Blue tile smashed and fell to the floor with my blood. I stayed there until the water above me ran cold, the hatred not fading away . . . though this time it wasn’t for Adelita. Instead it was with myself. My cock was still hard as granite. It only got harder the more I recalled her mouth on mine, her tongue, her tits . . . her motherfucking taste. So I punched the wall again. I punched and punched until I knew there were fractures in my knuckles and the skin on them was gone and nothing remained but raw flesh.
But it didn’t help. That bitch was all up in my head. A motherfucking witch, that’s what she was.
Nothing but a fucking witch.
Getting out of the shower, I sat on the bed, but the room felt like it was closing in. I needed air. Throwing on my shirt, boots and jeans, I walked out of the guest suite . . . and right into my father. Before I knew it I was slammed against the wall in the hallway. His eyes were livid. “Why am I hearing from guards that you’ve been touching the daughter? Fucking snarling in her face and slamming her on loungers?” I didn’t answer him. What was the fucking point? It was the truth. My silence riled my father more than any answer. And I braced for the punch. The many punches that started plowing into my face. I tasted blood in my mouth, felt it trickling down my chin from my lip and nose.
And I took it. I stood there and fucking took it, never striking back.
My father paused to add, “The guards are everywhere. If you fuck up this deal, you’re done. You hear me? Fucking done.” His hands wrapped around my throat—a warning. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. My father dropped his hands and righted his suit. “Now get cleaned up. You look like a fucking redneck who has been in a bar fight.” He walked off. I didn’t move from my spot against the wall. I still warred with the urge to track him down and beat his fucking face to nothing. But I wouldn’t. Like a good little son, I wouldn’t.
I caught movement from across the hall, and my stomach dropped when I saw Adelita. Her pale face told me she’d seen it all. I wanted to tell her to fuck off. To leave me the hell alone when she came toward me. Her brown eyes searched over me—the cuts and blood—then she handed me a tissue.