Synopsis
Her body was my greatest
damnation.
I craved her and the way
she came alive beneath my fingers. The way she’d let me force my will upon her
tender flesh, so breakable and trusting—open to all I could teach
her.
The moment I laid eyes on
my defenseless gatita, everything within me shifted. Everything about her sang
to my most basic of needs. She made me want things that never mattered before,
that had no place within my solitary
existence.
Amanda let me take. She
let me gorge myself on all she had to give and never complained. I became addicted
to her.
I was supposed to be the
one in control. The master of our time
together.
But this was never my game.
I was never in charge.
And now, I’m left dealing with the consequences of
everything. My hunger, denial...the resentment.
“I hate that I love you.”
Excerpt
Rage was packed as I pulled up to the valet parking area. The
lines were long, and the college crowd was out in full force. As my eyes
traveled down the line, the hemlines of each tiny outfit receded, much to my
enjoyment.
“Holy shit!” a soft feminine voice squeaked by the club’s
entrance, and my body hummed at the sound. It sparked my curiosity, and I
walked closer. There was a pull. An ache that began to take a hold of me the
closer to her I got.
She was the closest to me out of her group, and it was something
I was thankful for. No one between her and me to witness the effect she had on
me.
A warm breeze passed through us, causing her scent to swirl
around me. It was sweet and fresh. Nothing overpowering like the stuff most
girls her age used. I took in a deep inhale and groaned out a low,
“fuck.”
My pants grew tight, and my cock strained against the zipper.
The pressure made me both excited and apprehensive. I’ve never reacted so
strongly to a woman’s voice or smell. Women flocked to me, not the other way
around.
Her back was turned to me as she walked through the club’s
doors. What a spectacular fucking view. Ass high and round—tight, encased in
distressed denim that molded around her curves.
There’s nothing sexier to me than when a woman is proud of her
body. Tiny or plus sized. A woman, like the one a few feet away from me, was a
sinful delight. You could tell by the way she walked—her sway—that she felt
desirable.
I followed close behind, barely throwing a glance at the bouncer
as I passed them by. They knew me well enough and gave me a quick head nod in
greeting. Being a regular had its benefits.
The girls stopped once within the club’s main floor, right
between the dance area and bar. She was facing away from me. My fingers
twitched beside me. Something within me needed to touch her. See her face. Feel
her skin.
“What’re you
drinking?” the girl beside her yelled over
the music. “I’m in a vodka kind of mood.”
“With OJ?” my girl added; her hips moved to the
heavy Jamaican beat pulsing through the speakers. Her voice carried over to me,
and I shivered. Its tone captivated me—caressed my cock with its husky
timbre.
I wanted to hear her moan my
name.
“Is there any other
way?” the first girl answered, and then turned to listen to the other two
standing beside her. They spoke, but I didn’t hear a word. Most men in my
position would be enjoying the view of what stood before me, but I couldn’t
tear my eyes away from her.
My body was in tune with hers. My cock throbbed for
her pussy.
Standing off to the side, I watched while they made
their way toward the VIP section of the club. Her hips swayed deliciously from
side to side, the plumpness of her ass calling my name with each tiny step she
took. She sauntered toward the empty table with a reserved sign and
sat down.
“Gatita,” I whispered low, and took a step
closer.
“Who
are you calling a little pussy cat?” Oliver stood beside me now with an amused
expression on his face. When the fuck did he get here? “A few minutes
ago.”
Was I speaking aloud?
“No,” he answered, “the look on your face said it
all.”
I ignored him and took a step closer, but his hand on my arm
made me pause. “What?” My tone held annoyance; he was standing in the way of my
latest craving. Turning back to look at him, I raised a brow and signaled
toward his hand over my forearm.
Oliver released me and held his hands up. “Where are you
going?”
Good question. What was I
doing?
“No clue.” And it was the truth. There was a lure I felt—a
fascination I needed to fuck out of my system, preferably with
her.
It was as the last syllable passed through my lips
that the unthinkable happened. She turned—my gatita faced me and smiled toward
the bar. That innocent move fucked up every preconceived notion of what I
thought my life should be.
Was it love? Fuck and no. I don’t believe in that
at first sight crap. There was something there, though, lust being the
predominant emotion. It enticed me into seeking her
out.
A low growl escaped my lips as she pulled her face
away and turned to listen to her friend. My eyes devoured every inch and curve
it could, from the poutiness of her lips to the swell of her perfect breasts.
“Stop being a pussy and go talk to her,” Oliver
deadpanned, and for a second, I snapped out of whatever trance she had me
under. He looked beyond excited over whatever was happening to me.
Fucker.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Evasion
was the key in this matter. He’d seen
enough.
Oliver let out a deep belly laugh, loud enough to
draw attention our way. “Bullshit.”
“Wait a minute,” my gatita hissed and slammed her
hand on the tabletop. “Is that what…fuck! Did you see
Hunter?”
Her angry voice pulled my attention her way once
again. Who the fuck was Hunter? Why did she look so upset at the mere mention
of his name?
Why did I care?
The group spoke in heated
whispers. They were trying to calm her down by the way
they each smiled or patted her back. She didn’t care for any of it and stood up
to leave. “You’re right. Fuck him. Hunter will not ruin my
night.”
Her irate disposition only made her hotter in my
eyes.
Angry sex was the best kind of
sex.
They applauded, following behind her to the dance
floor. Her body moved to the beat, a slow, sensual roll of her hips that caught
the eyes of a few men. Irritation bloomed within me at the sight of so many
lusting over what I’d claimed as mine.
Is that what I did? Fuck, yes. If anyone was
leaving with that beauty tonight, it would be
me.
Then I saw her sad face, and my plans
changed.
I stood up, not caring one bit for what Oliver
would witness. Something within me screamed to go to her. Make whatever he did
a distant memory. My chair scraped against the club’s floor, and the people
around us turned to look. Not one fuck was given over the spectacle I was
creating.
She needed to be in my arms. I’d make everything
better.
“One so beautiful should never wear such a sad
expression.”
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Giveaway
About the Author
Elena M. Reyes was born and raised in Miami Florida.
She is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved
flip-flops, she would.
As a small child, she was always intrigued with all
forms of art—whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any
medium she could get her hands on. Her first taste of writing came to her
during her fifth grade year when her class was prompted to participate in the
D. A. R. E. Program and write an essay on what they’d
learned.
Her passion for reading over the years has amassed
her with hours of pleasure. It wasn't until she stumbled upon fanfiction that
her thirst to write overtook her world. She now resides in Central Florida with
her husband and son, spending all her down time letting her creativity flow and
letting her characters grow.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Elena-M-Reyes/595337763817997?ref=br_tf
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