I gasp and collapse against him as he uses his powerful hands to throw me up and down, guiding me up the length of him and making me feel silly for dreaming I could be in charge.
“Are you done?” he snaps, voice guttural
“Y-yes,” I moan.
“Good fucking girl,” he snarls, and then pounds up inside of me with so much force I’d fly off the end of his cock if he wasn’t holding me so firmly.
I turn and try to look at him as he empties himself inside of me, his lips twisted in passion, his near black eyes focused on me entirely, every part of him aimed at me like I’m the only person who exists.
“Fuck,” he snarls, as wave upon wave of his seed surges into me. “Goddamn, you’re a fast learner, aren’t you?”
I giggle, moving my ass cheeks from side to side, as his cock pumps the last of its seed inside of me.
“So you liked me taking charge, huh?”
He smirks, meeting my eyes with something like true affection.
Or maybe I’m just projecting.
“Time for dinner,” he says, giving me a short spank on the ass. “I’ll lead you to the balcony this time, so you don’t get lost. It seems the only thing you know your way around is my cock.”
I laugh again, sliding away from him and standing up.
Chapter Fourteen
Arturo
We sit on the uppermost balcony as the sun throws down fragrant crimson rays, or, rather, throws up the rays as it sinks behind the horizon.
Lanterns are lit all along the balcony, spreading their soft yellow glow. The floor is heated and sends up soothing warmth into the table.
I stare hard at Aida, my body remembering the way she danced and bounced in the library, my balls already filled with my seed again, as if the primal beast inside of me will never stop producing it as long as she isn’t pregnant.
She looks down at the electronic pad built into the table, swiping down through the dinner selections.
But I stare at her in that green dress, thinking about how well I chose her outfit. Her breasts are tempting and round, messing with my head with each swipe, the way they jiggle, the way they dance. Her hair is wavy and slightly messy from the library, giving her a casual, ready-to-fuck look.
“Aida,” I growl. “What were you going to tell me?”
She looks up and flinches.
She’s nervous.
After all, we’ve done?
After all, we’ve shared?
“Tell me,” I go on when I can see that she’s going to start some hesitating game. “Whatever it is, you seemed pretty damn keen on telling me forty-five minutes ago. What is it, Aida?”
“It’s …”
She sighs and turns to my estate, looking over the red-sun-dappled miles of it.
“Even when you sigh, you sound musical,” I snarl without meaning to. “Your voice is beautiful. Its angelic. It’s—”
I stop myself just in time.
It’s the sort of voice made for singing to newborn children, my children.
“You really like it?” she says sweetly, her cheeks burning as red as the sun.
They burn red like she’s somehow anxious like she hasn’t proved yesterday and today that she’s a spunky sassy woman who’s more than capable of holding her own with me.
“It’s incredible,” I snap. “Like I said before, you need to start getting some self-esteem. Your voice is ten times better than anything on the radio. Have you recorded anything?”
“No, not yet,” she murmurs. “I’ve never really had the chance, I guess.”
“Franco has money,” I say.
“Yes, but … Okay, not the chance. If I went to Dad and asked him, I’m sure he’d let me. I suppose what I mean is that I’m waiting until I’m good enough. That’s the chance I need, you know—the chance to take a chance.”
She pauses and our meet eyes, and then her smile spreads heavenly across her cheeks.
She bursts into sweet laughter, and I can’t help but chuckle along with her, even as the monster inside of me chastises me and tells me I’m not built for laughter.
“I think I know what you mean,” I say once the laughter has passed. “But you’re wrong. Your voice is amazing.”
She beams.
She’s going to make an amazing mother.
“Thank you, Arturo. See, I knew you could be nice when you put your mind to it.”
“Nah,” I smirk. “It’s just because you’re wearing that fuck-me-hard dress. It puts me in a good mood.”
She glows an even deeper shade of red, making me think of her needy and well-worked pussy, a pussy I could play with for a generation and still never get tired of.
“But enough compliments,” I say, growing stern. “You wanted to tell me something. So tell me.”
“I wanted to …”
She pauses, she hesitates.
“I wanted to ask you why you were moaning in your sleep this morning,” she blurts.
I lean in close, letting my eyes move over her, into her.
“You’re lying,” I say. “That’s not what you wanted to say at all.”
She flinches. “How can you read me so well, Arturo?”
“Because I own you,” I snap. “Now tell me.”
Most people would flinch at the thunder in my voice, but not the future mother of my children. She sits up – giving me an even better look at those made-for-tit-fucking breasts of hers – and shoots me a brave look. Her eyes flare.
“We’ll make a deal,” she snaps, just as fiercely as me. “You tell me why you were moaning in your sleep, and I’ll tell you what I was going to say.”
I laugh darkly. “You’re my prisoner. You’re hardly in a position to wager.”
She folds her arms and glares at me. “Is that really all I am? Your prisoner?”
“Sassy in the bedroom and sassy at the dinner table,” I smirk. “You’re the whole package, aren’t you?”
“Don’t do that, Arturo. I’m not a joke.”
“I know that,” I snarl. “You’re …”
Everything to me.
“Fine,” I grumble after a pause. “If I was moaning in my sleep, it probably has something to do with the fact that I was in the car with my parents and Franco’s parents – your grandparents – when they died, alright? I was in the backseat and I survived and they didn’t, and every time I go to sleep, I think of it, I think of that night. Are you happy now? Fuck.”
I bolt to my feet and pace over to the balcony railing, gripping it firmly and staring at the blood-red sun, my chest quivering with the suddenness of the confession.
I’ve never talked to anyone about that before, not even Franco back when we were still friends.
But somehow, I feel like I can be honest with this woman, even if that makes no damn sense.
If I have a soul, it belongs to her.
“Arturo,” she whispers, walking up behind me, her heels click-clicking.
I keep facing forward, my mind flooded with blood and pain and screams.
But when she wraps her arms around my body, clasping her hands against my abs and pressing the maternal softness of her body against mine, I feel all of that drifting away, as though the wind is blowing through the smoke of my memory, dissipating it. I feel myself relax against her.