Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
I’ve had guns pointed at my head. Knives slicing open parts of me that took a hundred stitches to sew shut, and I’ve never once winced or broken a sweat.
But when Larissa flips her hair down over her shoulder, reaches toward the ceiling in a lazy, seductive stretch, her body covered only by the thin white linen dress I had couriered to the villa after I made a midnight call to the owner of the most exclusive boutique in Naples, my hard-on thickens like a teenage boy on the internet with no parental controls.
Am I a bastard for dressing her like a virginal doll for my own perverse pleasure?
Sure.
I’ve never had a type. But generally it’s women who are sent to me, and if the mood is right, I indulge. The typical version would have long, tan legs, blonde, and likely low IQ.
I love a smart woman, this I know, but not in my bed.
I’ll never touch a blonde again. I already know this deep in my marrow.
Larissa is braless as well. I had the dress delivered to Larissa’s room by one of the nurses on staff, with instructions to bathe, then wear the dress, and nothing else. I catch the deeper shade of her nipple’s flesh with the help of the line of sun that’s turning the white fabric nearly translucent.
The cascade of dark hair, still damp from her morning shower, rests over her left shoulder.
She takes the glass of juice Maria hands her and brings it to her sinfully pink lips, the curve of her neck extending when she swallows.
The dress sits low enough that I can see her collarbones. They stand out far too much, but I trace them with my eyes to that small hollow at the base of her throat. That small dip. That perfect, shadowed indentation where I salivate to press my tongue, taste her skin, feel her pulse flutter against my lips like a trapped bird.
Little Finch.
My cock stiffens angrily as I ache to reach out and fondle the pert little mounds under the fabric.
Jesus Christ.
“I wish I had a mother like yours. Or like you,” Larissa says. “Mine is just the woman who happened to give birth to me. Home isn’t that great, maybe that’s why I’m starting to feel like this is a little vacation. I needed a getaway.” She laughs, and her snicker drives a hot poker straight into my balls.
I catch Maria’s frown, then the flick of her eyes, sensing my presence.
“It will be what you make of it,” Maria offers with a soft touch on her cheek, then turns to the counter and returns to chopping cucumber for the glass water pitcher on the island.
“I guess. I should be fighting and screaming and demanding to leave, but,” Larissa draws a shoulder to her ear, and the ache in my balls nearly doubles me over. “I’m more relaxed here, even being kidnapped, than I’ve been at home in years.”
The resignation in her voice makes something twist behind my ribs like a knife slipping between bone. I want to find her mother, Denise Willis, and break every bone in her body. Slowly. Make her scream for what she's done to this girl.
She’s not mine, I remind myself. No attachments. No exceptions.
"Maria, thank you for tending to our guest." I nod as things happen in my chest that both confuse and frighten me.
Chapter 3
Sebastian
The expansive kitchen feels smaller and warmer than usual.
A twitch is developing above my left eyebrow.
I smell her from here. The scent of rose water and linen from the products I had delivered to her en-suite this morning before she woke.
Those are not the only scents prickling the hair on the back of my neck. My senses are acute, and yes, I smell her sweet little virgin pussy.
How do I know she’s a virgin? Hoover made sure. I’m sick, but he’s sicker.
He had a private doctor examine her every month. After all, if he’s selling her innocence, he needs to be sure he delivers what he’s selling.
My throat tightens, my knuckles snapping as I ball my fingers into fists, thinking of her in the shower, the warm water touching her everywhere.
Saliva pools in my mouth. I hate that fucking water.
I take my seat at the head of the table, close enough to reach her if I wanted. Close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat.
"Good morning, Larissa."
"Hi." She inspects her teeth with her tongue, regarding me, then yawns, moving her eyes to a spot on the wall in a deliberate attempt to showcase passive disrespect.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."
Her gaze snaps to mine, and her tongue pokes out.
My dick jumps so high it challenges the security of my belt buckle.
She sets her hands on the table, flexing and stretching out delicate fingers as though she’s priming herself for a fight.