The Devil's Plaything

My gut told me there was more to the story, but I focused on the past betrayal and pinned it on Sofía. What Gaia did to me broke me, it shattered everything good inside me. It was Sofía who put me back together, mending the man I am, into the man I used to be, before loyalties were broken.

“You couldn’t have known,” Javi tells me; I know he’s trying to calm me down, but it’s not helping. Nothing can help me now. My men are on the hunt, searching for that asshole, but it’s going to take time because he’s far too intelligent to be caught with a tracking device, and he’s too quick on his cellphone to allow us to pinpoint a location.

“Leave me. I need to think.” I turn to the window, looking out over my land, the same acres of beauty I wanted to share with Sofía. If she ever returns to me, I’m not sure she’ll forgive me for my actions.

In the past, I wouldn’t have cared. It wouldn’t have fazed me if she hated me, I’d still lock her in her bedroom and take her when I needed it, but we admitted love to each other. That meant more than my mistakes. Surely.

The door clicks behind me, and I allow myself to recall a memory of when she was by my side.

Her body is encased in simple clothes. She looks like the innocent she is. The pure soul I know her to be. Nothing can stop me from taking her, not even her. I’ve wanted nothing in my life, I have the money, I have the women at my beck and call, but Sofía Montero is something different.

She moves through her room as she investigates everything. Touching the fabrics, running her fingertips along the smooth, dark wood of her four-poster bed. She smiles at something, perhaps a memory, and I want to know what it is that brightened her face that way.

Was it another man?

Jealousy courses through me, unbidden and unwarranted.

Even though she’s in my home, I cannot lay claim to her. She’s my possession until she’s paid off a debt. But that won’t stop me from partaking in a taste. Surely, I’m allowed to devour the fruit, even before it’s fallen from the tree into my grasp.

I take my cock out of my slacks, fisting the hard steel, I watch her as she decides on something. A shower. She slowly drops her sweatpants, offering me a view of her pert bubble butt. Then, she tugs at the tank top, dropping it on the bed.

I wonder if she knows I can see her. Would she still put on a show for me if she did? It’s been two weeks and she’s allowed herself to accept her position in this house. She strolls toward the bathroom, and my gaze focuses on the lower screen. In the privacy of the room, she rids herself of the panties she’s wearing, gifting me a full view of her now naked form.

Her tits are perfect, a little more than a handful. Her pussy is smooth, bar for a patch of dark hair at the mound, just above her clit. My hand moves faster as she steps under the spray, allowing the water to cascade down her body.

She wets her hair, tugging at the strands, and my fingers tingle to do the same. To wrap the dark locks around my fist and to tug her head back as I take her from behind, reveling in watching her ass jiggle as I slam into her.

Would she scream?

Would she cry or fight me?

Or would she moan my name in pleasure?

She lathers her flesh, the shimmering, tanned skin that beckons me is now beautifully slippery, and I imagine how soft she would feel against me. Her tits jiggle when she turns and rinses herself. Her fingers lower to her stomach, and I watch in awe as she leans against the tiled wall. She spreads her legs, taunting herself gently with just the tips of her fingers.

She doesn’t enter her cunt, but toys with the nub, circling it. Her head falls back and her mouth parts as her pleasure jolts through her and into me. It’s as if I can feel her pulse, and my release shoots from the tip of my cock, coating my hand in the seed I would give anything to mark her with.

Shaking my head, I attempt to clear my mind of the memory. I never told her about those cameras. I omitted something just as she did to me. She didn’t want to tell me about the device because she knew I would get angry.

And even though she had it on her, she didn’t use it. Which makes me believe her words when she told me she loved me. Anger surges through me, but I no longer focus it on her, it’s focused on myself. I’m an asshole. Of all the things I’ve done in my life, this is by far the worst.