Page 45 of Forgotten Sacrifice
Fuuuck, I might come from the sight alone. “Open that smart mouth for me, piccola. I’m going to fuck your throat.”
Luna opens her mouth wide, and I slide my dick inside her deliciously warm mouth. She moans in pleasure, and my balls tingle with the need for release, but not yet. No, she doesn’t get off the hook that easily.
I thrust my hips forward, and she gags, her throat constricting around my length. “Fuck, Luna. That’s it.”
I move my hips, enthralled at how tears are falling down her lovely cheeks. “Look at you taking my dick so deep. See, you can be a good girl.”
She whimpers, and I throw my head back, drunk with pleasure.
“Fuck, Luna, I’m coming!” I roar, spraying the stone tile with what feels like the biggest load of my life.
My chest heaving, I grab the shower head and wash away the evidence of that forbidden fantasy. And in my post-nut clarity, I know exactly what has to be done.
Get this girl out of my houseandout of my life as quickly as possible.
Chapter
Nineteen
Luna
“I’m ready to go,” I tell Vince, who’s reading the sports section. On competition days, I like to give myself plenty of time to check in and clear my mind.
“Just a sec, I have something for you,” he says, folding his newspaper.
“What?” I ask hesitantly. Vince has made himself scarce after the whole boardwalk incident. Jesus, I’ve never seen him that mad.
He reaches in a bag, pulling out a jewelry box.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I accept the box. Opening it, I find a silver half moon pendant. “It’s so pretty.” Is this his way of apologizing? A belated birthday gift?
“It’s a camera.”
Scrunching my forehead, I say, “I don’t understand.”
“Move your hair for me.”
I sigh, sweeping my hair to the side. He fastens thenecklace, his fingertips dancing over my neck, causing my skin to pebble.Really hope he didn’t notice that.
“Earpiece.” He holds up a tiny thing that looks like a pencil eraser.
“Why do I need an earpiece?”
He doesn’t answer, leaning in, and I try not to squirm as he places the small device in my ear.“Are you going to fucking tell me what this is?” I snap.
“I’m coaching you through your tournament today,” he says matter-of-factly.
I cross my arms. “What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know jack shit about chess.”
He opens a laptop, a split screen on display. On the left, a chess computer program; on the right, footage being recorded from the necklace I’m wearing. “And I don’t need to know ‘jack shit’ about chess. I’ll be able to see your chess board via this necklace, and through the earpiece, I’ll tell you which move the computer suggests.”
“That’s not coaching; that’s cheating!”
“You call it cheating.” Vince shrugs. “I call it debt insurance.”
“Why can’t I play like I always have?”
“You always win?” he counters.
