But really it just puts everyone’s livelihood in danger, and he won’t stop, the little fucking rat.
All because I wouldn’t play nice with him at a slave auction.
I’ve felt my old instincts rising up in me more than once this week, the responses that were drilled into me in my formative years.
Fight.
Kill.
Survive.
I let out a sigh between my teeth and instead watch Anna as she chops vegetables, moving methodically, her dark hair bobbing around her shoulders.
Without any makeup on her face, she looks fresh, alive, in a way that sends urgent pounding through my body.
A war drum of desire captivates me, as though this is ten thousand years ago and I’m about to run into battle.
Claim her, it drums. Take her, fuck her.
I see myself stalking up behind her and sliding my hands up the pinkness of her pajama bottoms, savoring the way she’d shiver and wriggle against me. And then I’d peel down her bottoms slowly, revealing the round beauty of her wonderfully bouncy ass.
I’d spend a long time on her ass alone, massaging, fucking worshipping. I’d fall to my knees and bite and nibble and play with her flesh, until she’d wriggle against me, begging me to slide my manhood inside of her.
“I’m assuming you like chicken salad?” she asks. “Something simple, but, you know, you can add a few flourishes here and there.”
“Salad sounds fine,” I say, a rumble far back in my throat.
Now, finally, I have the time I need to properly appreciate this woman.
This past week has been a non stop barrage of business, of going from burnt-out warehouse to Bratva bar, looking over the shattered glass and the broken chairs and being told that it was the Mafiosi, those bastards, Emilio holding a grudge.
I push it all from my mind now.
I’ve given the necessary orders and paid off the correct people. If Emilio is foolish enough to make another move in the city, we’ll be quicker to respond this time. He probably knows that, too, which is why he’s decided to lay low.
Good.
Let him lay low.
Otherwise he’ll end up far lower than he wants to be, in the fucking dirt.
My instincts are pulsing through me like primal invectives as I study this woman’s ass, her perfect round ass as she bends over the chopping board, biting her lip in concentration.
“Do you mind if I take Rocky to his crate?” I ask her.
She giggles strangely. “You ask me like I have a choice. I’m your property, remember.”
My property.
If that were the case, I could do anything I wanted with her.
I could fist that luscious dark hair and push her to her knees, bring my engorged manhood to her lips and drive it inside her wet mouth, slide it deep, and deeper, until she starts to gag and she can’t help but slide her hand down her body to toy with her sex.
As I drive myself into her mouth, her stark blue eyes wide with lust and fascination. Her fingers playing with her virgin womanhood, her eyes getting wider with each cock-thrust, with each tongue-stroke against my pulsating manhood.
I’d fuck her mouth, savoring its warmth, but that wouldn’t be enough, no fucking way. I’d only fuck it long enough for her to bring her virgin pussy to orgasm with her fingers.
And then I’d bend her over and bring my spit-slick cock to her pussy, never touched before, mine, all fucking mine.
And I’d drive inside of her for the first time, making her feel me like the queen she is, pushing all the way to those ass cheeks so they flatten against my abs.
“You have a choice,” I manage to breathe, mind clouded with thoughts of her.
“Is he okay in his crate?”
I can’t help but chuckle at her maternal instinct, just one of the qualities that drive so much excitement into me when I look at her. She’s going to make an incredible mother.
She’s going to give me everything I ever dreamed of.
It’s her.
She’s the one.
There’s no doubt about it.
“It’s the same crate he’s had since he was a puppy,” I tell her. “But it’s big. Don’t worry. I made sure of that. Apparently, it helps them to adjust to a new environment.”
“Then yeah,” she says, kneeling down to ruffle him behind the ears.
Fuck.
Her pink shirt rides up as she does, showing me a sliver of her pale belly, and now I’m gripping the bar so hard it’s a wonder I don’t snap it in half. To peel that shirt up and reveal her flushed skin, higher, and higher, until her breasts spill free for me.
I imagine gripping her nipples in my fingers and squeezing her milk out of them, letting it settle on my tongue and then kissing her, giving her back her own milk. And then she’d paint it onto my manhood and I’d use her precious fucking milk to screw her until she creamed milk-white, and we couldn’t tell which is her slick come and which is her milk.