SACRIFICE | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER NINE

Cheek meshed to shimmering marble floor tiles, I awakened with a painful hard-on, fenced in by phantasmagorical women—naked women, I might add.

Our joint, inextricable limbs hindered movements. "Go away," I croaked, closing and reopening my eyes. No, I still see variegated hair shades: short, long, unruly, matted and sweat-slicked. "Fuck."

I tried rolling onto my back, but the boneless weight on my arm numbs the process. I craned my neck, swept a gaze over the attractive, tall and curvaceous brunette, sleeping beside me. Her perky breasts pressed up against my side, leg cocked over my thigh, pinning me to the ground. She has a decent face, beguiling features and is that a tongue piercing?

Fucking. Hell.

My cock, I thought, examining the functionality of my semi-hard arousal.

Christ, I cannot remember anything. I jogged my memory, recall messaging Nate, relaying orders and then showering.

Yes, I definitely showered, ordered takeout and smoked a few joints.

What about the women, though?

I pondered harder for a perspicuous resolution.

Deeply emotional, grief-stricken and despondently comfortless, I'd sniffed cocaine, listened to nostalgic music and avoided the men.

Last night, however, possessed by intoxication and concupiscence, I wrestled against heartbreak and bereavement, invited women to my home and lost myself with incessant meaningless sex.

I shared alcohol and drugs with these women—do not know when or how I initiated foreplay or fucking. I assume such actions transpired—I wouldn't be bollocked-naked otherwise.

"Hey, handsome," the blonde purred into the nook of my neck, draping an arm over my waist. "It looks like someone's ready to play."

"I concur." Grasping the base of my shaft, the woman with plump lips and dark, lustrous hair nestles between my thighs. "More than ready." Tongue peeking out, she ravished the underside of my length and, in a carnal, transfixed state, I licked my dry lips, awaited her hot mouth to engulf me. "Mm," she moans, sucking me, deep. "Do you like that?"

She had hazel-coloured eyes, adorned with thick, fake eyelashes. I give credence to her beauty, but she's not Alexa—none of these women surpasses or outperform my love. "Stop," I ordered, flinching from the woman nibbling my earlobe. "Enough."

"You heard him," Nate drawled, and I sighed with relief. "Get dressed and wait in the foyer. That's an order."

"Grouchy," one quips, standing in nothing but a lace thong. "You sound jealous, baby."

Baby, I thought, freeing myself from the leaching web, stumbling to my feet.

Through tired, bloodshot eyes, I search for discarded boxer briefs, coming unstuck. Nakedness is the least of my quandaries, though. "Nate," I said tightly, looking for used condoms. Unnerving chills slithered up my spine. Surely, I hadn't acted so recklessly careless. "I..."

"It's covered," mumbled Nate, comprehending my dilemma. "You're not moving quick enough," he barked at the blonde, clicking for the others to wait near the exit.

Placing my hands onto the kitchen counter, I put my back to the room, overheard Nate's low, threatening voice. He forces them to sign something before administering six morning-after pills. I only breathed when the door slammed in their departure.

Modelling all-black attire, Nate sits on the leather U-shaped sofa, signs the nondisclosure agreements and slips them into a leather-bound folder. "Am I permitted to speak freely?" He doesn't look at me when asking such questions.