Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I brush my fingers up the center of her once again, now somehow understanding exactly what it is.
The woman isn’t aroused. She doesn’t want any part of this. What she’s done is accepted her fate because the alternative must be unimaginable. That’s why she’s used artificial lube. She knows her body wouldn’t slicken to make this easier on her.
It makes me hate Pirro and whoever the fuck he’s working for even more.
She pulls her eyes from me when I slide two fingers inside of her, and I’m thankful for the reprieve.
“Used up fucking cunt,” the guy paying for this depravity spits. “Probably too fucking loose to get me off.”
The man couldn’t be any further from the truth, and I hate the way my body responds to the grip of her pussy on my fingers.
She jerks her head in my direction when I brush my thumb over her clit. I imagine the zing of pleasure she felt is just as fucking nauseating as the one I felt the last time we were together.
I have to wonder, as I circle my thumb again, if it’s the manipulation of doing something that was once pleasurable at such a fucking awful time that angers her the most like it did me.
“Make sure you scream, bitch.”
I try my best to drown out the fucking voice filling the room as I pull my fingers from her body, the shake in my muscles even more pronounced as I spread my thighs a few inches wider in order to line myself up.
I have to look away when I swipe the tip of myself against the slickness coating her skin. It feels better than it should, considering what I’m fucking doing, but maybe that’s my penance, the guilt I’ll feel later.
“Get the fuck off me,” she screams, no lies in her tone as she struggles against her restraints. Red coats her wrists where the ropes have rubbed her to the point of bleeding.
Her knees lift, her feet planting on the bed in an effort to move her hips so I can’t penetrate her. I can’t help but focus on the wounds, hating that she’s hurting herself. I want all the blame to be on me. I don’t want her to suffer at all, but hurting herself this way enrages me.
I lean forward, my palm flat against her throat, my grip tightening in warning when she continues to fight.
Her eyes snap to mine, and I fucking hope she can see just how fucking sorry I am for being forced to do this.
“Calm the fuck down.”
Those words are mine, not the man paying for the perversion he’s living out through my actions.
She swallows, the flex of her throat right under my palm.
Money being made; the sound of Cortez’s coffers being filled, reverberates around the room, and I hate that it forms some sort of bond between the sick fuck paying for this and myself. He likes how I acted. His tipping means I’m doing exactly what he wants to do.
It makes me fucking sick, a literal wave of queasiness making its way through my body.
She must hate it too, because she continues her attempt to get away from me, despite knowing she’d never be able to.
“Stop!” I hiss, leaning in even closer. “It’s my fucking job to hurt you. Stop hurting yourself.”
She freezes under my touch, her eyes locking on mine. I feel some of the tension leave her body. I hate to think she sees me as an animal, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her from drawing more blood to the surface of her wrists.
I shift, my cock more than a little skilled at finding the right spot with very little help.
I clench my jaw the second my tip slips inside of her, my fingers at her throat tightening of their own volition.
When she coughs, I have to remind myself that the pressure there is now for show rather than being the need for a constant warning.
I fight the urge to puke as I press forward, burying myself inside her. I hate myself for the pleasure I feel, knowing it has nothing to do with the warning Pirro gave me.
Make it look like you like it or there will be consequences. Don’t just get in and get out. The customer will know if you don’t come. He’s going to ask for proof. Don’t say a word. The client is the one fucking her. Not you.
Seems I broke that last rule, but the amount of tips that came through tells me that he wasn’t exactly angry about it.
“Gonna fuck you so hard you bleed.”
I snap my hips forward, moving my hand to her shoulder to hold her in place. If I have to take her the way it’s implied in order to protect her, I will. What I don’t want is to fuck her up the bed and cause more pressure on the wounds on her wrists.