The other hand came up and tugged at her shirt, her fingers brushing one nipple through the fabric, pinching until it was visibly hard.
My cock strained against the zipper of my pants.
It’d been too long since I’d fucked anyone. And now I was sitting outside this girl’s window like a goddamn deviant, watching her touch herself like I had every right to.
But I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t leave.
I needed to see her break.
Her thighs tensed. She was getting close, rubbing tighter circles, her hips arching up against her own touch.
Then she slid her other hand down.
Two fingers slipped between her legs, sinking so deep between her folds that I couldn’t see them anymore. Then she started pumping them in and out—picking up speed while the fingers of her other hand circled her clit, quick and steady.
Her breath hitched.
Her head fell back.
She rolled her lips over her teeth and squeezed them tightly, holding in the moans, not wanting her roommate to hear, I assumed.
And then she came apart.
Her whole body jerked once—then again. She ground her hips into her hand as her legs shook and the orgasm tore through her.
It was captivating—the way her brows pinched and her mouth struggled to stay closed. The way she clenched her thighs around her hand and dragged the pleasure out for as long as she could stand it.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
She was flushed and glowing.
I was fucking ruined.
That should’ve been my hand teasing her, pushing her past the edge. My hand pinning her wrists down and making her beg. I wanted to break through the glass, rip that shirt off her body, and make her ache for the kind of pleasure only I could give—make her let out the screams she’d denied herself.
But then the high drained from her body, and her demeanor shifted.
One second, she’d been coming apart and flushed with self-gratification, and the next she was too quiet. I hated how fragile she looked now. She was curled up on her side, worn out and all alone, a blanket pulled halfway over her. Her eyes fluttered shut.
I would’ve watched her sleep too—if my phone hadn’t buzzed.
Luca.
I pulled it out, my heart still pounding like I’d been shot at.
Sacrifice is Delgado’s. MS-13. Front for sex trafficking. Not just girls. Boys, too. Some local. Some stolen. All disposable.
If you know her, you don’t want her working there. Trust me. If she’s dancing, she’s already in danger.
I stared at the message.
Ciro Delgado.
That bastard was becoming untouchable with the mayor’s help, and now it was personal.
Fucking hell.
