Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I frame her face between my hands. “Anything you need, you’ve got it. You only have to say the word. Understand?”
She closes her eyes.
“Look at me, Valentina.”
When she opens them again, they’re moist with tears. “Why are you doing this? It’s not part of our deal.”
I kiss each eyelid and then her nose. “Because I’m everything you need.”
The sadness in her gaze intensifies, fueling my fear, which in terms spurs my anger. “Say it.”
She licks her lips, but doesn’t reply.
I wrap my fingers around her neck and squeeze. “Say it, damn you.”
Her body tenses, but she doesn’t fight my hold. Instead, her shoulders sag as she slowly lets out a breath. “Yes, Gabriel. You are my everything.”
Heated satisfaction warms my balls, spreading all the way up my spine. My cock grows hard inside her again. I have her in every way I want, but I still need her in so many ways. Rising on my knees, I hook her legs over my shoulders and use my cum to lubricate her ass. She screams when I enter her there, but with my fingers in her pussy and on her clit, she quickly gives me the moans of ecstasy I’m after. Long after she had her second orgasm, I’m still punishing myself with new pleasure. It takes a long time before my second release. With her, I can go all night, but she needs her rest, so I gather her body against mine and hold her until she falls asleep.
* * *
Valentina
My mother used to say if something bad happens, celebrate something positive. That way, you’ll never become depressed. Maybe that’s how she survived when my dad died and we lost everything. She never left the house without red Estee Lauder lipstick.
“If you’re sad, Valentina,” she used to say, “put on your red lipstick.”
I fish the tube I ordered with my supplies from my bag and apply the lipstick in the mirror. The red stands out on my tanned skin. I scrunch my curls around my face, letting their natural glossiness stand out. I’m wearing the pink T-shirt, jeans, and flats from the Sandton boutique. On the outside, I look pretty. No one will know how broken I am on the inside. Maybe, one day, I’ll be able to just look at the pretty and forget that I’ve been a whore to the most dangerous killer in the city.
When I say goodbye to Gabriel for the weekend, he looks at me like he may object to me leaving the house with the makeup on my face, but I’m not his daughter, and this is my time.
He swallows as he studies me, jiggling the keys in his pocket. “I’ll drive you.”
I don’t argue anymore. It’s pointless. On the way, I ask him to stop at the corner bakery to pick up a Black Forest Cake. I could’ve baked it for half the price, but that’s not the point. I’ve never purchased a cake in my life. I hold the fancy shop cake in its plastic container on my lap, the black cherries shiny with sugary syrup on top of the whipped cream.
Gabriel glances at the cake and then at me. “Whose birthday is it? I know it’s not yours.”
“No one.” I look from the window at the passing cars.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Nothing.”
He purses his lips, but doesn’t continue the interrogation. Near Rocky Street, I ask him to stop again so I can feed the hungry dogs. The minute they see me, they come running. Gabriel leans against the car with his ankles crossed, watching me as I distribute the food between them. I wipe the plastic container out with a paper towel, and wrap it in a plastic bag to wash later. A shadow of a smile plays on his lips as I get back to the car.
“What?”
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re every kind of good.”
“No, I’m not.”
“To me, you are.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to reply. He opens the door and helps me inside.
When he drops me off across the road from Kris’ place, I wait until his car turns the corner before I head over to the house. Charlie nearly knocks me off my feet as I enter through the kitchen door.
“Hey.” I laugh and deposit the cake on the counter. “How are you?” I take him into a big hug. There’s more meat on his bones and a tube around his middle.
“Ca–cake!”
“It’s for after dinner.” I squeeze his shoulders and sit down next to him on the couch, switching off the television.
We play Chinese Checkers until Kris locks up the practice. As habitual, I cook, and she gets to take a much-needed break after she spends the first ten minutes freaking out about my thumb. When Charlie is seated with a big slice of cake in front of his favorite cartoon, she takes the chair opposite me at the kitchen table.