Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel, Zavarelli, A. [easy books to read in english txt] 📗

I splay her apart with my palms, and she makes a strained sound in her throat as I slide my dick against her. Once. Twice. Three times before I circle her clit with the head, toying with her until she’s squirming against me unconsciously in half pleasure, half pain. Her ass is tender. I can tell when it brushes against the fabric of my trousers, and she whines. It’s a glowing red ember against my white knuckles when they graze her curves, and when I hoist her back up, her body begins to sag into the bed again. Exhaustion is wrapping its ugly claws around her, but I’m not even close to being done with her yet.

I slide my cock against her, smearing it with her traitorous arousal. Even when she hates me, she wants this. She’s as fucked up as I am.

I wrap my fingers around the leather belt end and tug, arching her head back as I slam inside her with one deep thrust. She screams, a shrill sound that vibrates my eardrums and rattles my cock. In and out, I slide against her, soaking my rigid dick with her arousal.

Her fingers curl behind her back, shoulders squeezing as she struggles to hold herself up without the use of her arms. I release the belt and she collapses again, panting against the pillowcase covering her face. When I slide my fingers against her, she arches into my touch, unaware she’s even doing it, but freezes when I circle the tight forbidden hole I have not yet sampled. I press against her with my finger, pushing past the barrier as she tries to jerk forward, out of my reach. My hand on her hip stills her, and I slide my finger in and out as she begins to breathe harder, faster.

“Santiago,” she gasps when I pull my finger away and replace it with the head of my cock, nudging against her.

“You can address me as Dominus et Deuce.” I squeeze her ass hard as I push past the tight barrier. “Your lord and your god.”

She falls completely still, completely silent as I slowly bury my cock deep into her ass. Her knuckles are white, tears soaking through the pillowcase as she gulps in mouthfuls of air.

“Oh God.” She bucks against me as I pull back and start to thrust forward again. “That’s… too… I… Santiago.”

Her broken fragments turn to garbled incoherence as I close my eyes and settle into a steady rhythm, rocking back and pivoting forward, stretching her body around my dick to accommodate me. She’s clenching against me, desperate for stimulation where she needs it the most, all while she squeals and groans and mutters indecipherable curses.

“You don’t get to come,” I bite out through gritted teeth. “Don’t even try it.”

“I’m sorry about the pictures!” she shouts. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“Your words are meaningless.” I thrust hard, fingers digging into her. “They always have been.”

“You don’t mean that.”

I fuck her harder. Angrier. Pinching her skin as I use her like a fuck toy, thrusting, grunting, rolling my hips while she folds under the weight of my palms, sinking lower and lower, only for me to yank her back up.

“I can’t stay up anymore,” she cries out, choking on her tears.

“You will.” I punctuate my words with two quick, deep thrusts, hoisting her ass up into my hands and holding half her body in the air while I fuck her into my oblivion.

Shudders move through me, muscles tightening, ears ringing, and finally, I slam into her one last time, unraveling. Filling her with my come.

She trembles when I release her, dropping her back onto the mattress, half limp. Branded by my belt and my hands and my seed leaking from her body. For a long moment, I stand there, catching my breath as I watch her. This woman I can’t trust. The woman who has managed to get inside my head. The darkest spaces of my mind. The emptiest spaces of my chest cavity. The beating heart no other soul has ever dared to trespass. And at that moment, I realize two things.

I hate her.

Yet I feel something else for her too. Something inexplicable. Something dangerous.

Something I can never allow myself to feel.

With tremulous hands, I release her ties and the belt around her throat, leaving the pillowcase over her face. My tone is ice cold, almost demonic as I give her one final command.

“Get out of my sight.”

31 Santiago

Days pass, turning to nights, and then, inconceivably, to weeks. I spend them locked in my office, alternating between work and poring over every detail of the reports that come in on Abel. He’s a loose end. Something that needs to be dealt with. A fucking Moreno who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as the rest of humanity. I know what needs to happen. I dream about it all night and all day. Bleeding him out slowly. Torturing him until he gives me the answers I want. The confirmation of everything I know to be true. Their blood is a stain on society, a systemic disease, and the only way to cure it is to cut it out.

Every day, reports arrive on Eli’s progress in the hospital. He is regaining his mobility, recovering slowly. I’m told he demands to see me. Demands answers on the whereabouts of his family. And one day, he will have them.

This has always been my plan. My intention. But even behind a locked door, stowed safely out of sight, my wife manages to poison my thoughts.

I have not seen her since the night of the incident in the chapel. I have not asked her about the broken case or her reason for burning the sheet because it doesn’t matter. She lit the fire on my altar and in my soul with one intention. To wound an already wounded animal. I am too proud to admit that on some level, she succeeded.

I’m drowning myself in scotch, trying to forget her. Trying