Rebecca Downhill (Becca) has known nothing in her life but a strict father who is involved in businesses with the Italian mafia in NY, an absent mother who has taught her to be obedient and fulfill her duties towards the family, and a twelve years o...
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I consumed her today to the last of her drops of seeds and loved each second of it.
When done, I washed fast, trying to hold Becca with one arm, leaning her against my chest, then washed her clean as well. She was barely standing on her feet and my twisted dominant self was pleased to see the effect I had on her.
I lift her, wrapping her legs around my waist while her arms are curled around my neck and her head leans on my shoulder.
I smirk in satisfaction when I feel her hard breasts crushed on my chest. I'm one sick bastard, but I'm one bastard madly in love!
Getting out of the shower, I place her sitting on the bathroom counter, leaning her back on the mirror after drying her skin with a soft towel, and dry my own skin as well with hasty moves so she won't have to wait for too long.
I couldn't keep my hands off her. My skin must touch hers, my lips kiss hers and my nostrils need to smell her wild orange and lavender scent.
She is half-sleeping, eyes closed, and a smile plastered on her lips, and I love that.
I did that. It's the mark of me fucking her raw as nobody can.
Taking her back in my arms, I walked both of us into the bedroom where I gently put her in bed and I lay next to her, cupping her small frame in a hold.
I pull her up on my chest and she glues to me like jelly.
One of her legs stretches lazily on my hip, her feet squeeze between my thighs and her knee pocks my semi-hard manhood.
Now, that's a feeling any man would kill for from the woman he loves, and I'm no exception.
She wraps one arm around my torso, and she sweetly sighs.
I tight my left arm around her, trailing my fingers along her hip. This is my "forever".
"Becca..." I call her, hoping she's not sleeping yet.
"Hm...," she hums.
"Come back home with me."
She keeps quiet for a moment.
"Not yet, my love," she replies, and my muscles stiffen, denying to accept her refusal, but I do manage to control myself. I know she needs time. And I'll give her time. I don't want to ruin this second chance we have.
I don't want to lengthen the time of adjusting to this new "us" because it can throw us right to the beginning and I'm not willing to give it more time than is strictly necessary.
"Soon, my love. I promise," she whispers as if she has read my mind.
Well, she does. She's the only one to read me out and I don't mind.
My phone buzzed and I read the text message reminding me about the business dinner I'm supposed to attend this evening.
I texted my assistant back, instructing her to postpone it until the next day.
