I got to my feet, shuddering as the sheet slid down my sensitized body. My rational mind receded as desire swelled. My feet followed where Lauren led, with no thought of resistance. There was no thought at all. Just need.
I needed to be touched, to be kissed, to be fucked.
I needed Andrés.
We arrived at the elevator, and the silver doors opened for Lauren. She took my hand, and I gasped as my fingers tingled with awareness. She started to cry as she pulled me into the elevator with her, but I didn’t understand why. How could she be sad when everything felt so good?
I was warm. So warm. I leaned back against the cold mirrored wall, and a whine eased up my throat. My eyes slid closed as my inner walls began to contract, aching for Andrés to fill me.
“Andrés,” I groaned his name.
“You’ll see him later,” Lauren promised, her voice hitching. “After.”
The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. Lauren was still holding my hand, and she tugged me out into the long corridor. I followed without question, without concern. All I could focus on was the lust coursing through my system, the need building deep inside me.
She led me a few steps down the hall and stopped at a closed door. She retrieved a key from her dress pocket and turned the lock before ushering me inside. The door closed behind me with a sharp click, but I barely registered it.
The room was huge, yellow lights filling the decadent space. Everything was red velvet and gold gilding. It was warm, soft, sensual. Couches lined the walls, and a massive circular bed dominated the center of the room. People lounged on the couches in varying states of undress. One particularly voluptuous woman was dancing to a heavy, hypnotic beat, her naked body undulating around a silver pole. A musky scent filled the space. It made my pussy clench and my blood race.
Several sets of eyes turned on me, male and female. I heard deep, masculine voices rumbling beneath the music, a harsh laugh punctuating the sensuous beat.
A man approached me slowly. I recognized him. It was the boy who’d come to clean Andrés’ suite, the one who’d threatened me. His eyes flicked past me to focus on Lauren.
“What’s she doing here?” he asked. “She’s supposed to be upstairs. Do you know what Andrés will do to us if he finds her in here?”
“Cristian wants her down here,” Lauren said, her voice still trembling with tears. “He said he’d deal with Master Andrés.”
Something stirred at the edges of my mind.
Andrés. He was with Cristian. And he…
God, I needed him. My body was on fire, my pussy throbbing to the point of discomfort. I needed relief, release.
Not caring that I was naked in front of a room full of strangers, I closed my eyes and cupped my breasts, squeezing them to make the tingling in my nipples abate. My firm touch only made my desire grow, and my wet arousal slipped down my thighs.
“If you’re sure…” I heard the boy’s voice getting closer, but I didn’t care about him.
I cared about getting back to Andrés, so he could help me ease this craving that was gnawing at my insides.
Long, masculine fingers closed around my wrists, directing my hands to my sides. Warm flesh touched mine, and I cried out at the shock of sensation as he caressed my breasts. My nipples were hard peaks against his soft palms.
Soft. Not calloused.
This was wrong. It felt wrong. But so good…
A loud bang sounded behind me, accompanied by the snap of splintering wood. My eyes flew open when the hands were jerked away from my breasts. Andrés’ savage snarl filled my senses, and a pleasurable shudder ran through my body at the sight of his scarred face. It was twisted with maddened fury. He held the boy’s face in both hands and twisted sharply. Bone cracked, and the boy’s body fell to the floor, his neck at an odd angle.
Andrés positioned his body in front of mine, his fists curled tight at his sides.
“Who else touched her?” he roared. “Who?”
“N-no one.” Lauren’s voice was a high squeak. “I’m sorry, Master Andrés. I’m so sorry.”
“Do not speak to me.” He bit out each word. “You’re lucky I don’t snap your neck, too.”
I heard her heave out a despairing sob, heard her soft footsteps whispering across the carpet as she fled.
“Master Andrés,” I said. “I don’t like that she calls you Master.”