He turns and strides away, opening and closing his hands as though fighting some inner struggle.
“Arturo,” I whisper.
“What?” he snaps, standing with the broad muscled landscape of his back to me.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For not laughing at me,” I murmur. “It’s pretty embarrassing being a nineteen year old virgin.”
“Don’t worry,” he growls. “You won’t be one for long. I’m forty-one years old, Aida, and I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. I’m going to pound your pussy until there are tears of pleasure in your eyes. And I’m going to come inside of you. Now do what you’re told and take a shower. I want that pink cunt nice and clean if I decide to take you for round two.”
He paces from the room and slams the door heavily behind him, leaving me with a thousand thoughts whirring like buzzing insects around my mind.
Chapter Six
Arturo
I sit on the balcony with Jackal waiting patiently beside the table, the only sign that he’s expecting food his big tail swinging back and forth. The sun shines down on the estate, the air free of snow and the sky clear except for a few clouds drifting here and there.
I can’t stop thinking about what just happened as I move my forefinger around the rim of my coffee cup.
I went in there with the intention of giving her the dress she was to wear for breakfast and leaving straight away.
But then I lost control.
That’s the truth, plain and simple. There’s no denying it.
I lost control and gave in to the carnal desire that rocketed through me. I never do that, but then, no woman has ever flooded me with so much inexorable passion before, waves and waves of it surging into me until I felt like the only thing I could do was take that ass roughly, wetly, dominate her and explode inside of her.
It’s a damn miracle I got out of there without dragging her like a feral beast into the bedroom.
She’s a virgin, my own personal untouched piece of innocence, a perfect vessel to fill with my seed and bring my offspring into the world.
I should find the thought ludicrous.
I’ve never been interested in making a woman pregnant, and yet here I am, dead certain of it, more certain than I am of my own name.
I don’t have a choice.
I need to take her and impregnate her and own every part of her.
She approaches the table from the balcony door, her steps quiet as she walks barefoot onto the heated flooring. I turn and then bite down, stilling the shivering growl that threatens to escape my lips.
She’s wearing the dress I chose for her, showing a subtle, dignified hint of cleavage, cut just above the knee so that I can get a good look at her shapely legs, but still leaves something to the imagination.
This was my reasoning when I chose the dress, but now I’ve seen her in all her naked glory, her tight pink cunt, her red, suck-me-now nipples.
My eyes are magnetized to her nipples, perky through the fabric of the black dress. I can see the strap of her bra, which means she’s still so excited that they’re showing through two layers of clothing.
I gesture at the seat opposite me.
“Sit,” I tell her, thinking maybe I can reclaim some sense of control.
A virgin, a deep voice within me bellows, some ancient voice, as though all my primal ancestors are joining their voices together. A virgin just for you. To claim. To own. To fuck hard and fast and any damn way you want. She won’t know any different. She’ll think getting absolutely hammered for hours on end is the norm. She’ll take it like a grateful sex goddess and never stop squirting on your rock hard cock.
The thoughts are relentless. I have to focus hard not to leap across the table and tear her dress down, freeing those voluptuous breasts.
“Hungry?” I ask.
She nods, seeming suddenly shy now, turning her attention to Jackal as he pads over and lays his head in her lap. She strokes him, smiling, her every feature etched with maternity.
“He’s so friendly,” she says.
“He’s not usually,” I tell her. “You’re the first person he’s ever been like this with.”
“I wonder why,” she muses.
I know why I think but don’t say.
It’s because Jackal knows, on some level, that this woman is going to give him humans that he’ll need to protect. He knows that she’s important to me already, that she became the most important person in my life the moment I laid eyes on her.
“I’ll have my chef make us something,” I say. “What do you like?”
“Well, lots of things,” she says, some of her sassiness returning, but it’s much more muted than it was in the shower.
That probably has something to do with the fact that she’s not being treated like the horny secret freak she is.
Maybe she wants me to forget about how she willingly gave herself to me, shivered against me, creamed, and cried out in release.
No chance.
“Are we playing a game?” I snap. “What do you want?”
“I can order anything?”
You can have it all, Aida.
“Yes,” I tell her.
“I’ll have a fruit salad then,” she says, and then bites her lip, her gaze flitting to the garden, over to the fountain, and then back to me.
“You don’t want a fruit salad,” I tell her, looking deeply into those summer sky eyes. “You’re just saying that because you think ordering some real food makes you seem—what? Less like what you think you should be?”
Her eyes widen in recognition.
“I knew it,” I growl. “But listen here my personal virgin fuck toy. What you think you should be doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is what I want, and I want a woman with a big juicy ass and wide hips and large breasts I can really sink my hands into. I want a woman who knows how to eat and fuel her body. So you’ll have what I’m having, pancakes with a side of bacon.”
She aims another sassy look at me, those pouting lips begging to be used until she’s gagging and choking and creaming just from the sensation of my cock driving into her mouth.
“Do I at least get to choose what I put on my pancakes?”
I smirk. “Yeah, since you asked so nicely, I’ll allow it. What do you want?”
“I’ll take syrup, please,” she says sassily.
It’s killing me how round and full her breasts look in that dress, and the knowledge that she’s not wearing any panties is even worse. She’s wearing the same bra she was yesterday, but I didn’t see the outline of her underwear beneath the thin fabric of her dress.
No, she’s bare down there, her pussy completely naked, probably still a little excited and creamy from the shower.
I swipe a panel on the table, activating the small electronic touchpad there. I type a few keys and then navigate to my kitchen’s menu, making the breakfast order, and then tell them to bring it out to the balcony.
“What’s that?” Aida asks when I’m done.
“One of life’s conveniences,” I tell her. “Aida, do you really have no idea who I am?”
“Should I?” she asks.
I sigh and glance at Jackal, who’s sitting at the side of the table, the same distance between me and him as between him and Aida. It’s like the jet black Great Dane is already finding it difficult choosing between us, even though I’ve raised him since a pup.