Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
I open my eyes and look up at the ceiling, follow the intricate pattern of the crown molding along the edges, around the light fixture. It’s a mini-chandelier. I have to smile, shaking my head, wondering just how much money the Benedetti family has. It’s a kind of wealth I don’t think I can grasp.
But then I think of how they earn that money.
That thought sobers me. Reminds me where I am. And with whom.
I shouldn’t get too comfortable. I can’t forget what the last few days have brought. What it means for me. What Sergio Benedetti loving me means. Because he’s right, I did walk into this—eyes wide open. And I’m not naïve enough to think Sergio’s hands are clean.
I push those thoughts away and pull the plug on the drain. Water pours off me as I stand, grab a thick towel off the stack nearby and wrap myself up. I walk to the mirror, glance at my reflection, wonder how I got here, wonder how much I’m willing to ignore to be here.
Wonder who I am.
I’m dressed but barefoot and sitting on the floor in front of the mirror braiding my hair when Sergio walks in a little before nine. I meet his gaze in the mirror, but my smile falters. He looks strange, like he’s got something on his mind, and in his hand, he’s holding a tumbler of whiskey. He closes the door, stands just inside and watches me as he takes a sip of his drink and I wonder if it’s his first. It doesn’t look like it.
“Hey,” I say quietly, returning my attention to braiding my hair, feeling my fingers disappear in the thick mass as I create a long, intricate pattern.
Sergio moves, he pulls a chair up behind me and sits, takes another sip of his drink before setting it down. His legs are on either side of my shoulders.
“Okay?” I ask.
He nods. “You look good.”
I finish the braid, but I don’t get a chance to tie the end of it together before he puts his hands on the thick straps of the dress and pushes them off my shoulders. I look at myself, at the dress as it slips down to my waist. Look at my bared breasts. At how the braid is already beginning to unravel.
“Don’t you want to get changed for dinner?” I ask.
Sergio reaches down and cups my breasts. Draws his fingernails over them. He takes the already hardened nipples between thumb and forefinger and rubs.
I swallow, my eyes locked on his in the mirror. “We’re going to be late,” I say weakly.
“Turn around,” he says.
I kneel up, put my hands on his thighs and face him so I’m kneeling between his widespread legs. He touches his thumb to my lips, then smears the dark red lipstick across my cheek.
“What are you doing?” I ask quietly, beginning to rise as I touch the corner of my mouth. But he takes my hands and shakes his head.
“I want to mess up your face,” he says, undoing his belt, the buttons of his jeans.
I watch, my heartbeat picking up when he pushes them down, takes his already thick cock into his fist.
“I want to bruise your perfect lips when I fuck your mouth. I want to come all over your pretty face.”
He wraps one hand around the back of my head and draws me to him, ruining the braid as he pushes himself into my mouth. I open for him but it’s not wide enough and when I try to draw back, he stands up, his fingers curling into my hair, fisting a handful of it.
“Just open,” he says.
I’m looking up at him because he’s got my head tilted upward. He bites his lip and I rise up on my knees, wrap my hands around his powerful legs.
“Good girl. Like that. Just open and let me fuck your face.”
I want to slide my hand under my skirt but he’s moving too fast, and I can’t breathe when he pushes so deep, so I push against his thighs, try to pull back, but he won’t let me.
“Shh. Relax, Natalie.” He’s not coaxing me. It’s a command. “Look up. Look at me.”
I do, and he nods his head and pulls out a little, lets me gulp in a breath, then slides his length back into my mouth.
“That’s it, like that. I’m going to go deeper now. I want to watch you take my cock. Want to watch your face when I come down your throat.”
He starts to pump and I panic when I can’t breathe but he leans down and pets my hair and now he’s coaxing me. Whispering something over and over again.
“Trust me, Natalie. Trust me.”
I do. I trust him. And when I relax my mouth, my throat, he grips me so hard that I can’t move, and thrusts in deep and I know he’s going to come. I feel him grow even thicker and his eyes get that glow, that sheen, and a moment later, I feel the throbbing, feel his release, see it on his face as he empties down my throat and I swallow. I swallow and when he pulls out, I cover my mouth, but he doesn’t release me. Instead, he crouches down.