Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Her hands started to flail, gripping the sheets and tugging them until they slipped off one of the corners. Her legs were wide open, but her pussy tightened over my dick with the grip of a viper—and she came with a scream.
I closed my eyes and savored the sound before I finished, giving her my seed when she squeezed it out of me, filling her pussy like it was the first time, even though it had been more times than I could count. Adrien had had this woman in his bed every night but chose to fuck around—the most idiotic thing I’d ever heard. But now my dick was the one plowing into her, and that was just fine with me.
I gave her ass a hard spank when I was finished, making her grunt in pain. I pulled out and spanked her again, hitting her so hard she rolled onto her side and moaned. The handprint was visible on her cheek, so I leaned down and kissed it, kissed the red, welted skin, made the pain feel good.
She softened at my kisses, turning her torso to watch me, her fingers moving into my short hair before she guided me toward her, bringing me over her so she could kiss me on the mouth. It was more than a quick kiss to start the day, but a long kiss with breath and tongue, like having my dick and my come wasn’t enough for her, like she still wanted more—like all of me still wasn’t enough.
I separated her knees then moved between her thighs, my hand deep in her hair as I kissed her, her body covered in the t-shirt she’d stolen from one of my drawers. I tugged it up to expose her tits before I sunk inside her again, feeling her suck in a breath against my mouth when she felt me, like she didn’t just take me.
She must have been sore because she spoke against my lips. “Easy…”
I restrained myself from giving it all to her, invading her like she was a virgin, my rocking as gentle as the small waves at sunset.
Her ankles hooked together at the small of my back, and she kissed me as I moved inside her, her fingers deep in my hair, her other hand clawing at my back. “Yes…like that.”
Dalia’s Market, a run-down storefront in the 18th arrondissement, sat undisturbed under the lamppost, the street empty of cars, while the sidewalk held a camp of the homeless in tents, empty cups placed outside in the hope of donations—or a chance to con someone.
The blacked-out SUV pulled up to the front, while the others behind me came to a stop. The guys hopped out first, dressed in all black with masks over the bottom part of their faces, tactical vests covering their chests and backs. Armed with rifles, they fired at the latch on the rolled-down door until it popped free. Then they slid it up, revealing the stands of produce that would be available at dawn. They moved farther inside, unlocked the hidden door that led to the basement, and descended.
I stayed in the back seat and listened to the gunfire a moment later. It lasted for a couple seconds before it went quiet.
I took that as my cue and hopped out of the back seat, flanked by my two guys, as I headed down the stairs and saw the bloody sight below. Girls were huddled in the corner, latched on to one another and shaking like they were next to be executed. The tables contained bottles of over-the-counter medications, like ibuprofen and acetaminophen, but instead of finding those harmless drugs inside the containers, you’d find shit more sinister—and illegal.
I didn’t care about the drugs—just the women forced to pack it.
There were dead men on the floor, brains splattered under the tables. I walked through the bodies, ignored the ones who trembled as their brains continued to troubleshoot their afflictions, and then found the three guys in the rear who had been kept alive. Their wrists were zip-tied behind their backs as they sat in the plastic chairs at the table, their cigars still burning where they’d been left behind.
One of my guys pulled out a chair for me then stepped away.
I took a seat, pulled out my own cigar, and lit up.
They put on their best poker faces, tried to be brave when they were about to shit themselves. One had already pissed himself. I could smell it. I took a puff as I stared at the first one. “Who’s your supplier?”
He couldn’t stop himself from shaking, knowing exactly who I was even though we’d never met. “We get the product from Jerome—”
“Not the drugs. The girls.” I already knew who his supplier was, but I wanted to make an example out of him.