“Mfystptah mackusa,” she mumbles, too spent to make sense.
My hips jerk, and my release explodes. The aftershock eases through hard breaths before I pull out. Bianca collapses onto thebed. Her braids fight to stay in her ponytail, hanging to the side. Her back lifts and expands through quick gasps.
Never once did I look at the ceiling mirror I enjoy while fucking. My eyes were on her the entire time.
I lick the crease between her ass and bite a cheek. “Don’t quit now.” My grin spreads at her snivel.
Neither of us is sleeping tonight.
The walk to my private bathroom takes more energy than the few steps from my bed to the door. I haven’t fucked like this in years.
I take care of the condom, clean off, and go back to Bianca with a warm washcloth and a glass of water. She’s out cold, facedown with her arms stretched wide.
“Lightweight.” I place her glass on the nightstand and pull the sheets up to her shoulders.
I don’t know how long I stare at her when my phone buzzes from my trousers.
“Yeah?” I keep my voice low not to wake her.
“Boss,” one of my security guards says. “Your package arrived.”
“Be down soon.” I end the call and go to my closet in the other room for a new suit. I don’t want to kill any of my men for smelling her on my shirt.
I take one last look at Bianca’s curves in my bed before leaving.
Chapter 12
Run for Your Life...After a Snack
Bianca
My vagina needs a check-up and a resurrection.
“Shit,“ I groan for the second time in this abyss of a bed. The aches battering my insides aren’t in my head this time. The steady thrum between my legs is evidence of being thoroughly fucked.
I deserve a medal of valor and a long soak in the bath. That man rearranged my guts like living room furniture being repossessed. Muscles I’ve never used are crying out, questioning why I tried to play him in the first place
Everything about “Sir Bennici” screamed danger. The warning in his dark brown eyes was trained on my pleasure, and the hard ridges of his chest pressed against my back.
Sir Bennici.
Tuh!
I still don’t know his government name. Watch it be Thiago or Cornelius.
We’re in Sicily.
Pietro then.
Dick drunk is the only justifiable reason I chanted “Sir” while he railed into me. He stroked places no man or toy has touched. Just planted his flag between the walls he claimed and shot me to the moon. Had I not woken myself up from hollering in snores, I’d still be passed out in this bed, risking my life. Once “Sir” finds out he put the wrong Bianca through the mattress, there’s no telling what he’ll do.
“Time to go.” I will my joints from the firmest mattress I’ve ever screamed into. Rumpled silk slithers down my skin. The room isn’t freezing, but I’m not waltzing out of here butt naked.
“Where are my clothes? I know they didn’t grow legs,” I huff, a hand on my hip and every ounce of attitude animating my neck.
Did he leave naked? His clothes are missing too.
His staff is in for a treat if the answer is yes. I bet he talks his employees through it, all mean and serious.
