I gag around him when I take him too far and hear him curse beneath his breath. But still, I don’t think or stop. I just do.
I finally let him go when he’s fully erect, climbing on top of his lap. I’m not wearing any panties or shorts beneath this gown, so sliding down on his thick length, inch by slow inch, is easy to do. My lips part, a gasp spilling out when I feel him completely inside of me.
His nostrils flare, his fingers digging into the arms of his chair.
He doesn’t want me.
He does want me.
I can’t tell.
I don’t stop.
I ride his cock, lifting my hips up and down, circling and dipping, my fingernails sinking into his shoulders. During all of it, he’s staring right into my eyes, breathing harder, pretending he isn’t enjoying it. But by his small grunts of resistance and how he clenches his jaw, I can tell he does.
Then he’s gripping my ass in his hands and slamming into me from below, and I know for a fact he’s enjoying it. A clapping noise fills the air, the sound of his body slapping against mine, and I gasp out loud, holding onto him tighter, my arms wrapping around him.
He squeezes my plump ass in his hands, and I work my hips in sync with each thrust he provides. He’s filling me up more and more, making me wetter. Making me hungrier for him.
Not a word uttered.
Only breaths mingling, and grunts and moans flowing with the warm breeze.
I can see he wants to hold off and pull away when our eyes connect. His mouth lands on mine, and he sinks his teeth into my bottom lip, biting hard, so hard that I taste blood, but the pain is overpowered by the pleasure.
I force him back and ride him faster, feeling his cock hit the most tender of spots inside me.
His head falls backward as he gives himself to me, just what I wanted, and he curses beneath his breath in Spanish.
“Forgive me,” I breathe in his ear, kissing my way down to his neck. A groan bubbles deep in his throat. He opens his eyes, looking right at me. I feel myself on the brink, so close to tipping over. “Please,” I beg, kissing his lips while my pussy clenches his cock. “I’m so sorry.”
His large hands are still holding me tight, delivering full, hard strokes. His strokes are quick and hungry, like he can’t get enough, and I squeeze my arms around his neck, climaxing like never before from the power alone.
I come so hard around him, never wanting to let go—loving how full and swollen he feels inside me.
“Shit,” he groans, his body now stiff and tense. I feel him coming inside me, the warmth he provides, twitching every time I squeeze my walls around his sated cock.
I’m breathing hard, but when I pick my head up to look at him, he’s no longer looking at me. He’s slouched in the chair, staring ahead at the city. I wait for him to say something—wait for him to kiss or caress me.
He doesn’t. Instead he says, “Get off and go back to your room.”
I frown, slowly climbing off his lap and standing in front of him. “We should talk,” I breathe.
Avoiding my eyes, he stands up tall and pulls his briefs and pants up to his waist. He starts to walk past me, and I panic, shooting my arm out before he can get away.
“No!” I grip his wrist and yank him back around to face me. He glares down at the hand I have wrapped around him, like he wants to cut it off.
He grimaces. “Let go of me.”
“No.” I step toward him, my bottom lip trembling now. “Stop walking away from me! Face me like a fucking man, you coward!”
“Fuck you, Gianna!” He snatches his arm away, taking a small step closer to me.
“You did just fuck me, and I fucked you, and you loved it.”
He doesn’t blink. “You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. It’s that simple.”
“Draco, please,” I beg, staring up into his eyes. The tremble in my lips is worse now. I’m on the verge of tears. I hate this. “Just fucking talk to me. I can’t live like this! Your mom fucking hates me now! Everyone around here hates me!”
His glower is terrifying. I can tell he’s angry, but that he’s also disappointed. I can tell he wants to talk, but it’s not in his nature to talk about how he’s feeling.
This is El Jefe, the broody, dangerous man who has wanted to kill me on more than one occasion, and somehow I keep forgetting that.
This is the man who was ready to kill me when he first heard about me. This is a man who never shows mercy or pity, yet he has for me—repeatedly. He doesn’t know what the hell to do with me, and I don’t know if I should be upset or glad about it.