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 want to cry at the precum on the tip of his cock when I lift it to my body as I straddle him. The arousal isn’t an indication of his consent, something I know the man wouldn’t give if he were awake.
I moan with the first brush, hating that part of it is for show for the client and some because it feels good.
The teleprompter urges me to slide down his cock, specifically moaning like a whore when I do.
I obey, lifting his cock and lining it up at my entrance, wondering about my own depravity when I know I probably didn’t need the lube I slickened myself with.
My mouth opens, no sound coming out as I slide down, the stretch he causes inside of me leaving me breathless.
I realize the mistake too late, but the cha-ching that fills the room when I do belt out a fake moan says the idiot on the other end of the transaction is none the wiser.
LIFT HIS HAND AND HOLD IT TO YOUR TIT
I’m still on him, fully impaled by his cock as I reach for one of his hands. My legs tremble, the threat of tears burning the backs of my eyes as I reach for his hand. The bend of my body has him pressing against that part inside of me I was hoping to avoid. His hand is colder than it should be, making the nurse in me wonder about the conditions they’ve been keeping him in and running through a list of things that could cause low circulation.
I lift his fingers to my mouth, taking in the redness on the tips before sucking on one. It was the only way I could get a better look without raising suspicions.
Pulling back his fingers when they threaten to curl, I situate his palm under my breast, hating the way my nipple tightens with his forced touch.
This is worse than yesterday, ten times more deviant. I wasn’t in control of what he did yesterday, no more than I was in control of how I reacted to it. I didn’t want to come. He made me. The tables are fully turned now.
I shift my weight, gearing up to rise, letting his cock pull free from my body to the tip, when the doors burst open.
Gunfire, something I don’t hear very often even in a place like this, echoes around the room.
With a scream, I dive off the bed, praying the platform built around it is enough to stop a bullet, if any fly my way.
Begging for my life is on the tip of my tongue when my head is jerked back, my blond hair tangled in a man’s fingers.
He looks utterly disgusted with the sight of me. I want to beg for my life. I want to tell him all the things I can do for him if only he lets me live. I’ve heard some of the men complaining that there are other groups that have been raiding places like this, killing the men, and taking over.
Pirro was always quick to shut them down, saying no one is fucking brave enough to go against Raul Cortez.
Tears are streaming down my face when the man lifts me to my knees. I see just how wrong Pirro was because he’s lying on the floor with half his face missing.
The tremble starts right in the center of me until I’m shaking so hard I’m terrified this man is going to think I’m trying to escape.
“Pl-Please,” I beg as he sneers down at me.
“You’re as bad as the fucking men here,” he growls, the light glinting off the barrel of his gun as he holds it to my head.
I can only nod, knowing he’s right. I’ve been so willing to hurt others just to save myself and Alani. I’m a terrible person, even worse than many of the others. Because if I had to relive everything I’ve done, I wouldn’t change a fucking thing.
“Will Alani be safe?” I ask, my words so weak, I’m not even sure he can understand them.
“Angel!” another man yells from the doorway.
My eyes snap in that direction as another group of men dressed as commandos enters the room.
“It’ll be the last thing you do,” the man warns, his rifle pointed at the man gripping the handful of my hair.
I feel no safer when he releases me because he doesn’t change the direction he’s pointing his gun as they inch closer to him.
“Fucking Cerberus,” he mutters, the hand holding his gun dropping to his side.
He sneers in my direction one last time before holstering his weapon.
It seems like hours of me staring up at him until his form is replaced by the soft, wary, yet reassuring smile of a woman. She doesn’t tell me everything is going to be okay when she wraps a soft blanket around my naked body.