Page 36 of Bared Betrayal
I fling my keyboard to the ground after sending the email, rubbing my fist in front of my face. I might not know her blood type, but I know exactly how tight her cunt is. How her body comes alive under my touch. How she was born to submit. And I know how to make her body sing with pleasure. With pain. With every emotion in between with the music of our complete fucking chaos.
The thoughts are running together in a red haze. I hate her. I hate her for this. I hate her for being in my head twenty-four-fucking-seven. I hate her for being so goddamn perfect while chained and naked. But, most of all, I hate her for being the woman my son loves.
I clench my fists so hard my knuckles ache. The more I think of her, the more my hatred turns into something stronger. More powerful. Something I’m struggling to control.
I have to get the fuck out of here. I grab my jacket and pick up the phone, dialing Denise.
“Sir?”
Fuck that word.
“I won’t be back today,” I bark. “If Victoria comes around, tell her it will have to wait.” I hang up before Denise even gets a chance to say a word. Right now, I don’t give a shit about anything. This goddamn building can burn to the fucking ground today.
The elevator chimes, and the doors slide open. My steps eat up the underground pavement to the gleaming black of my Maserati. It roars to life under my hand, and I burn rubber out of the lot. Only one thing will take care of this unrestrained wrath currently infecting me.
Myth, and a wet pussy with a taste for pain.
I call ahead, telling Nicoli I’m on my way. Apart from having three of their best girls line up for me when I get there, security needs to know to put everything in place so I can enter through the back door. Nicoli knows I hate going through the front, risking having people I know recognize me. My fuck-life is none of anyone’s business, and the last thing I want is a Mr. Abenante or Mr. Presutti to ask me how I prefer to get my dick wet over lunch.
The lot is packed with Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Rolls Royce, and Mercedes Benz luxury cars. It’s three in the afternoon. Do these people have nothing better to do than fuck around? Pun intended.
Three girls are lined up outside my quarters—the room I pay a fuckton of money for to be mine exclusively. I don’t even take the time to fully appreciate my options by sizing up their tits and testing their cunts by sliding a finger through each one. There’s one blonde woman, and she’s the lucky goddamn winner.
“You,” I snap at her, and her dark chocolate eyes widen. Now if they were green, she’d be perfect. “Come with me.” I loosen my tie, unlock the door, and roll up my sleeves as I stomp inside. I grab her hand and pull her to stand in front of me. I tear the delicate strap of her lace chemise and begin tugging at it roughly until it’s a tattered mess hanging from her shoulders.
“On your knees,” I demand, my cock already hard.
She obeys immediately, wisps of blonde hair falling around her face. She’s beautiful, this one. She’s damn well near perfect.
She’s not her.
I take her chin between my fingers and tilt her head, so she looks at me. “Is your pussy wet, little one?”
“Yes, sir.”
I snarl, hating how those words sound coming from her mouth, so I pull my cock out and grip her head tight, guiding my dick past her lips and pushing all the way to the back of her throat.
She moans around my shaft, wrapping her fingers around the base. Spit drips from her mouth, her tits bouncing as she sucks me like I dipped my dick in her favorite flavored iced tea. Peach. She looks like the peach type. Some women seem to think peach is sexy. Peach lip-gloss. Peach-flavored gum. Peach dessert. It’s even used as a motherfucking emoji when they chat with their BFFs about getting fucked outside in some lame parking lot. And don’t forget the goddamn eggplant. What kind of dick looks like an eggplant, anyway? Not mine. Mine sure as fuck doesn’t look like a goddamn vegetable.
Peaches here groans as she tries to swallow my cock. She’s pumping her mouth over my dick so damn fast, she’s two gags away from a concussion.
She’s too easy. Too eager. She’s too seasoned.
I sigh, my dick going soft in her mouth, clearly as unimpressed by her practiced sounds of pleasure as I am. I could let one of the other girls take her place or, better yet, join us. But Nicoli can have all the Myth girls stroll in here naked with glistening pussies, orchestrating the world’s biggest gangbang ever, and my dick still won’t play.
Why? Because it’s not. Her.
I pull out of her mouth and wipe her spit off my dick with her torn chemise. “Get up and get out.”
Obedience has been engraved into this one as she gets on her feet and softly walks out of the room.
The door shuts, and I start to pace, pulling my fingers through my hair. “Fuck!”
I can’t get that woman out of my head; evidently, neither can my dick. I yank one of the canes from the wall and throw it across the room. Kallie is all I see whenever I close my eyes. She’s the one I want to fuck when I wake up with wood. I want to hear her screams while I pump my jizz deep inside her motherfucking womb. I want to watch my cum drip from her delicious cunt after I’ve fucked it raw.
She’s the one.
She’s the fucking one…and I hate her for it.
