Page 3 of Blinded By The Sun
King
The man and the woman that I’m walking behind are none other than Ciro ‘Tuere’Sarkozy and his wife, Tatyana Sarkozy. Ciro is like the sun. If you look too hard or stare too long, you’ll become blind. I know better than to stare at someone of his stature. Everyone living here in Quebec City, Quebec knows who he is. You don’t fuck with them, they own Quebec.
I shudder because his nickname,Tuereor in English, slayer/killer fits what he’s known for. I’m still surprised that I’m walking out of here. I would have rather died than gone back to the sadistic customer that tries to pay up for me each time. I keep my head down, not forgetting my training that I’ve learned from a young age.
I don’t say a word even when we get outside. “Get in the car.” I shudder at the tone and baritone voice belonging to Ciro.
I hop in his Escalade, taking a seat. Once I do, I see expensive shoes staring right back at me. I look up and I’m face to face with Ciro. This time, I’m looking him in the eye. Shit, he’s beautiful. If a rugged and rough looking man is meant to be beautiful, it’s him. His eyes are so clear blue, it’s like I see right through them or they take up your attention. His low trimmed beard gives way for me to see his perfectly sculpted jawline. I swear someone could cut something with it. His lips are full, and they look so kissable. With his hair pulled back, I can see how his dark features accentuate his beauty. He’s so handsome. His dark lashes stick out even more with the color of his eyes and the bushy brows work for him. As if Ciro reads my mind, he shuts his eyes and reaches for the band that’s holding his hair together. He pulls it out and runs his fingers through his hair. I shudder as I’m tempted to run my fingers through his thick dark brown hair with some blonde mixed in there.
“If you’re grateful,” Tatyana Sarkozy grabs my attention. I turn to face her. She’s equally just as gorgeous. She reminds me of the top model Giselle. “Show him.”
I blink, then remember that I shouldn’t be looking at her. I look down. “Show him how?” I ask. This is my job.
“Get on your knees and suck his stress away,” she says.
I say nothing, but I hesitate for a moment. I shouldn’t touch a man like Ciro. I’m not allowed, but he saved me tonight, so I’m grateful. I sigh as I slide off my seat and get on my knees. I don’t look up at Ciro as I reach for his belt. I unbuckle it, pop open the button and unzip the zipper. I don’t have to get Ciro hard because he already is. I pull his dick out of his expensive black boxer-briefs and I don’t waste time as I show him my gratitude.
Ciro hisses as if it hurts, so I stop and pull my mouth away. “I’m sorry.” I whisper.
“Keep. Going.” Ciro demands and he grabs his dick with one hand while the other grabs the back of my head. He shoves his dick into my mouth. Instead of letting me do what I need to do, both of Ciro’s hands are now buried deep in my hair as he fucks my mouth.
His dick hits the back of my throat making me gag, but he doesn’t stop. I feel the power in his thrusts. The aggression of such a powerful man can bring anyone to their knees. I shudder when I feel myself getting wet at the way he’s handling me. Ciro grips harder on my hair, my fingers grip his thighs, digging into them.
“Fuck. Fuck.” Ciro grunts in a controlled tone.
There’s no warning when Ciro cums down my throat. I choke on his cum while he continues his work on my mouth. He slows his movements while I try to swallow it all but some escape my mouth. Ciro pulls me out of his mouth and throws my head back on my seat. The back of my head hits the soft seat and I stare as he tucks himself away. My eyes widen. Did I just take all of that in my mouth? I blink twice and attempt to wipe my mouth.
“Leave it.” Ciro commands. “Don’t you ever fucking wipe my cum off you. Am I understood?”
Everything in me is telling me to run because I just escaped one hell for an even worse one, but I know I can’t go anywhere despite the blaring warning signs. Ciro tilts his head, cocking his brow.
“Yes.” I say.
“Good. Another thing. When I talk to you or address you. I’m sir, nothing else. Also, don’t fucking look me in my eyes again. You’re either looking at me dick level or not at all.”
“Yes, sir.” I hiccup. Of course, I’d hiccup when I’m nervous.
I wish I could summon that dumb bitch version of myself that threatened to kill herself in front of her uncle, but that was before I knew he’d trade me and not just to anybody. He traded me to Ciro Sarkozy.
