Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Not daring to pursue her under his father’s roof, Damon contented himself with beating off that night in his childhood bedroom. As he stroked his hard shaft, he imagined entering her room on the third floor in the dead of night. She would be naked on the bed, the covers thrown back, her bare body all the invitation he needed. He would creep over to her bed and place his hand over her mouth.
Her eyes would fly open in startled surprise. “Shh,” Damon would admonish. “Don’t make a sound, Mariela, not if you want to keep your job.”
She would press her lips together, her eyes widening in fear and desire as she took in his huge cock poking from the fly of his pajama bottoms. He would pull her to the floor and make her kneel up in front of him. Then he would thrust his erection down her throat, gripping her by the hair to hold her in place as he fucked her mouth. When he was close to the edge, he’d flip her around and push her face into the mattress. Kneeling behind her, he’d thrust his cock into her cunt, which would be soaking wet.
When he was done with her, he’d drop a few hundred-dollar bills on the bed beside her head. Feliz Navidad.
But that had been fantasy. Callie was real, and she was his personal property. Christ—he could do whatever he wanted to her, all the annoying constraints of civilized society removed. He could fuck her, whip her, starve her, cage her, even… kill her. Not that he’d do that, he quickly reminded himself. He’d never been into snuff porn. He wasn’t a monster. He just wanted what he wanted. And Callie, who had been on that BDSM hookup website trolling for a rich, handsome Master, deserved what she got.
He stroked his shaft, which was rising again as he watched her hobble around in her sexy getup. He was just deciding what he’d make her do next when his cell phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and regarded the screen, intending to send it to voicemail. But then he saw who was calling.
Damon sighed. What did the old bastard want now? He only ever called to yell at Damon for not doing this, or doing too much of that. It was so fucking tedious. He glanced at Callie, who had turned at the sound of the phone, a sudden hopeful look on her face.
Did she think he was a fucking idiot? No way was he going to risk her screaming in the background. At the very least, it could be awkward. So he let the call go to voice mail, something he almost never did with his father. He moved to the night table on the right side of the bed and yanked open the drawer. Inside were several fetish toys he planned to use on Callie when she’d earned her way into his bed.
He grabbed the shiny red ball gag and a pair of handcuffs. Callie, not even pretending to dust, was watching him with a dubious expression. “Dusting’s over,” he informed her. “Get back in the bathroom and climb into the tub. Don’t worry about taking off your outfit. You won’t be getting wet.”
When she continued to stand there gawping like an imbecile, he strode to her in two steps, grabbed her upper arm and yanked her along to the bathroom. “You can take off the heels,” he said generously, not wanting her to break an ankle while climbing into the tub. If she got hurt, it would be because he hurt her, not because of a stupid accident.
“Sit on your butt and hold out your wrists,” he directed as she climbed gingerly into the tub.
“Please, I—” she began, but he cut her off.
“No talking, cunt. Do as you’re told.”
He quickly clipped the cuffs into place and then held the ball gag to her lips. “Open wide.” His phone began to ring again. Damn it. He tapped her closed lips impatiently with the ball. “Open your fucking mouth, cunt. Now.”
He shoved the ball past barely parted lips and quickly buckled the straps around her head. His phone continued to ring. “Don’t make a fucking sound,” he warned, though she couldn’t do much more than gurgle with that thing shoved between her teeth.
Turning away from her, he took the call. “Hey, Dad,” he said in as casual a voice as he could manage. With a last look at the girl in the tub, he walked into the bedroom. “What’s up?”
“What’s up?” the old man spluttered. “Where the goddamn hell are you and what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
For a split second, panic washed over Damon as if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water on his head. What exactly did his father know?