I want to wrap my mouth around those, to take a bite, and roll my tongue across them. I want to make it hurt, to rip out those beautiful sounds of pleasure she makes while watching the gleam of pain and pleasure in her eyes clash and intertwine.
Grabbing her tits, I squeeze them together, enjoying the feel of her soft skin against my palms. “These will be fucked too,” I vow.
She whimpers, a tear rolling down her flushed cheek as she puts more effort, pushing down and choking on my length.
There’s something so devouring about her, something I keep coming back to like a habit I don’t want to break, and it’s fucking addictive.
I can’t tear my eyes off her. She sharpens my senses to the edge of pain. I can feel and see the effort she puts into sucking me, the way her pretty pussy throbs, and the way her nipples harden while a flush paints her pretty chest.
The bliss swells, thickening with the weight of anticipation that presses down on me like a storm about to break. I place both hands on her head and let my eyes drift shut, surrendering to it completely.
And just as fast as all my senses snap to life, they vanish. The orgasm tears through me in a violent, shuddering surge that robs me of breath, of sight, of sound—stripping me of everything, even my fucking soul.
A raw, guttural sound claws its way out of my chest, echoing off the walls with a rasp that feels too loud in the small room. I’d bet anything her neighbors heard every second of what she put me through.
I hold her head steady while cumming deep in her throat, flooding her faster than she can swallow. She gags, but she doesn’t pull back, her husky moans vibrating across my length.
“Fuck,” I mumble, pumping myself into her throat and hand a few more times before looking down at her.
She looks up, tears gathered on her lashes, trembling as she blinks. Her throat works through a soft swallow, and I won’t pretend it isn’t the single hottest sight I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Slowly, I pull out, more cum gushing through the corners of her mouth. Eyes smoldering, she sweeps her fingers over her lips, and her tongue darts out, licking them with deliberate care.
My cock twitches, the tense, primal need growing inside me with renewed intensity.
This woman will be the death of me.
“Good girl,” I whisper, my fingers tracing the curve of her lips. She leans into my touch, and the hunger within her only intensifies, swelling tenfold, impossible to satiate.
I want her. More than anything. Every fiber of me fucking aches for her. The raw, carnal hunger prickles goosebumps across my skin, a fire stoked by the intensity of my need.
But first, I have to tend to her arm and handle the body before I can give in.
Idon’t think I’ve ever seen a snake faucet in my life. It is the goddamn focal point of this bathroom, commanding the room with a kind of sinuous, deliberate arrogance. It rises from the floor like a living thing, its body forged in black-chrome metal polished to a mirror sheen. Its head curves over the rim of the tub, mouth slightly parted, water spilling from the gap in a thin stream that drips like venom. Two tiny inlaid stones serve as its eyes, and they stare straight into mine, unblinking and strangely judgmental.
I dip my fingers into the bath, testing the warmth. Once I’m sure the temperature is right, I reach out and turn the water off. The motion sends the candle flames quivering, casting franticshadows across the space. Pale stone lines the walls—smooth, muted slabs of warm limestone fitted with obsessive precision.
I never understood the appeal of staying in a bathtub. It always struck me as wasted time, something dull and pointless.
But Estella suggested it, and I couldn’t bring myself to say no. Or, more accurately, she stated it as a fact. And I didn’t object. Especially not after she went out of her way to set the atmosphere—candles, the bath bomb, the whole thing.
I have to admit, now that I look at it, it does look romantic.
I bandaged her arm earlier, then went to deal with the body. I dragged it into one of the alleys farther from her apartment complex, right next to a bar. No one will question it. A drunk tourist pissing off the wrong locals—easy, believable, forgettable.
Before I left, I asked Estella if she recognized him, but, just as I thought, she had no idea who he was. After I came back, she told me she had called Cane, and he said he would deal with it. It stirs something inside me—a deep worry—but she doesn’t seem bothered at all.
One thing is certain: I don’t want to leave this place. I don’t give a fuck that I prepaid two months of rent. The truth is, I’ve wanted to be closer to Estella for a while, but I knew she would pull away if she thought I was rushing her. She might still feel that way now, but at least I have a solid reason to stay here—if only temporarily.
The thought of her slipping out of my life feels impossible, a nightmare my body wouldn’t withstand and my mind couldn’t crawl out of.
She’s a part of me now. I sense that connection, stronger than anything I’ve felt before. And because I’m a selfish bastard, I’m keeping her.
Rising to my feet, I make my way toward the kitchen. My gaze hooks instantly on her back, delicately wrapped in a silk robe that clings to her like it was made for her alone. My cocktwitches in my sweats for what feels like the millionth time, and I grind my teeth, fighting the urge to turn into a feral animal every time she stands in front of me and simply exists.
“It is elegant, isn’t it?” Estella asks softly, not bothering to turn around.
I close the distance between us, letting my hand settle on her shoulder with a careful touch. “What, exactly?” My fingers travel slowly down the line of her arm, stopping at the bandaged wound.
