Page 11 of Vendetta

Makes us both stop.

I narrow my eyes. My fingers are still deep in her cunt and I don’t want to take them out and from the look on her face she doesn’t want me to either.

“What?” I growl.

“It’s Emerson.” Preston says through the wood. But of course it fucking is.

I shake my head looking at my angel. I can see in her eye she wants me to ignore it. To pretend it’s just us. But this kingdom won’t run itself.

And I have traitors in my midst. Traitors that need to be eliminated if only to keep my wanton queen here safe.

“Wait here. I’ll be back.” I say pulling my fingers out and her body physically deflates.

“I…” She starts and then nods, looking around as if she’s only just realised she’s in my bedroom. “What do I do while you’re gone?” She asks.

My eyebrows raise for a second. She sounds unsure. She sounds unconfident. The high walls this girl has built seem to have turned to dust but I don’t believe it’s just from me touching her. I’m not a romantic. Shit like that doesn’t happen.

“Have a shower. There’s fresh clothes for you. Make yourself at home.” I say standing up, trying to tuck my dick under my belt to hide my erection.

“Home.” She says quietly. Like she’s never had one. Like she doesn’t know the meaning of the word and that again I file away for later. Something to explore. Something more to understand about her.

“This is your home now.” I state and she looks confused.

I go to leave. The sooner I’ve dealt with this shit-show the sooner I can turn my attention back to Eleri.

“And don’t leave this room.” I add before shutting the door.

Her

The door clicks and for a moment I think he might have locked me in. I guess I’d be more relieved if he had because then I wouldn’t have a choice but to obey him.

I lay back on the bed. His bed. I can smell him. Something musky, rich wood undertones, and vanilla too. As I breathe it in it fills my nostrils and my heart hammers harder in my chest.

I’m fucking crazy I realise. I’m here in a mob king’s house. In his bed. Half-naked or as good as and I’ve let him already take too much from me. I should have resisted. Should have played hard to get. That’s what all the girls at the bar would have done. That’s all they ever went on about. How men respected girls that didn’t lay it all out. How you had to wait to at least date three before you get down to any action.

And yet here I am, not even date one with my pussy still aching from where his fingers where in me and haven’t finished their mission.

I groan in annoyance. In confusion. In frustration too.

My tits are still out. My bra is folded over uncomfortably and I roll over unhooking it and tossing the damn thing. They always make bras so ugly for women of my size. If I was a b cup, or even a c, I’d be able to buy something pretty, delicate, sexy. But when you’re an e cup all sexiness goes out the window.

And in truth. I’ve not exactly been looking for sexy underwear. It wasn’t high on my list. But then letting my boss finger fuck me wasn’t high up there either and look where I am now.

I glance around, at Nico’s bedroom. It’s so ornate it feels unreal. That this man sleeps here. That this is really his space. The bed is so big it must be a custom. The sheets are black silk. The mattress underneath me is holding my body in a way no other mattress has ever done and part of me wants to climb under the duvet and bury myself further into it.

I get up deciding to have a shower, more because when Nico comes back I have no doubts he’s going to want to continue what he started and I at least want to be cleaner. More prepared.

The bathroom is just as ridiculous as the bedroom. A huge sunken bath is at one end. There’s a double sink vanity made from what looks like marble. And tucked around a wall is a walk-in shower that has the biggest rain-shower head I’ve ever seen.

I slip my jeans off, and leave them in a pile with my panties tucked up inside; some futile attempt at decency though all mine appears to have left me the minute I got in that damn car. There’s a neatly stacked row of towels under the vanity and a silk bath robe hanging from a gold hook.

On the side there’s a hair brush and I take my time working out the knots from where Nico has tangled it all up.

And then I stare at myself in the full length mirror. Stare at my body. I only have one mirror in my place. A tiny cracked thing above the rickety sink and I only adjust it to cover the scar across my face, to try to blur it more.

But now I’m seeing me for the first time in two years.

I tilt my head, taking in how fat my thighs look, how round my hips are. My breasts are slightly saggy but with the size they are I’m not surprised. I don’t look beautiful but I’m not ugly either. The only problem is my body doesn’t conform to the size zero ideal that the world screams to demand of women.

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