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ALMS TO LOVE CHAPTER 129

Penulis: MIKS DELOSO
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-09-30 23:21:06

In that clean-smelling room, in almost black-out, he dropped to his knees and pulled my dress up, sucking on my pussy with the hunger of a man who'd spent three days crossing the desert with no water. I slapped two very determined hands across my mouth to stifle my screams as I came, quickly, one after another after another, his tongue relentless… inside me, then slapping my clit, back inside me… licking the length of me. His big fingers came in now and then.

I lost myself as he reminded me what passion is and when he had finally drunk enough of my nectar, he speared me open with the force of a machine until I needed his hands over my mouth too, or else I'd have definitely attracted the attention of staff or other party-goers. asking if I was alright.

Sweaty, dripping with cum and tousled, I never went back to the bar. We sneaked out the back door, hopped in a cab and ended up here, in our hotel room.

I can only attempt to explain our rightful meeting again after we returned to the ro
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    At the Billion estate the morning moved like a careful actor on a stage. They persuaded themselves, and their staff, that life would stitch its seams back together. The media circus had been managed; the market had steadied; statements had been issued. But the house itself felt wound tight: rooms were cleaned, schedules reworked, security tightened, and the press team rehearsed the language for the next week until the words were muscle memory.Madam Jamaica watched the movements, eyes slow and predatory, like a hawk watching a field. She had taken Candy into the estate under counsel’s legal cover—temporary custody, a protective petition executed with the authority of the board. The child was small and howling on the carriage ride from Marie’s penthouse; she had clung to her stuffed rabbit like a talisman. Jamaica had placed Candy in a guest wing, a neutral suite under the estate’s roof, and then—because she was not merely a guardian but a mother an

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    Jamaica's words were clinical, chosen to wound.“but if you make a move to take Candy by force, you will be arrested and the evidence will be used against you.”The threat hung in the air like a blade. For the first time since her carefully cultivated fury had become a social weapon, Marie felt fear. It was a small, hot thing that made nausea burn under her ribs.“You’ll rue this,” she rasped, fight flaring hot and foolishly. “You’ll all rue this.”“Perhaps,” Jamaica said softly, and in that was pity quieter than fury and infinitely colder. “But not for my family. For you.”The line went dead. Marie sagged against the window, the city tilting beneath her.She'd wanted war. She had thought it would look like headlines and stock blips and a crowd eating her words up like bread. Instead it had looked like a child bundled in someone else's arms and a woman's voice saying, plainly and irrevocably, that she was not fit to be trusted with her own daughter.The maid came in again, whispering,

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    The car slid up the drive to Marie's building like a dark promise. She let herself in with shaking hands, rain still clinging to her lashes. The penthouse felt cavernous, every surface a mirror to the night. She shoved her keys into the bowl by the door and kicked off her heels, the sound too loud in the emptiness.A face of a maid, eyes round, apron damp, a towel clutched to her chest appeared from the doorway to the kitchen.“Ma’am—” she started, her voice strangled. “Ma’am, Candy,”Marie didn't wait for the rest. "What about Candy?" She had expected fury, yes, but not this.this thin, untethered panic in the house that had been her fortress.The maid's hands fluttered like trapped birds. "They… they took her, Ma'am. Madam Jamaica's guards two men in suits and two in uniform—arrived. They said they were escorting Candy for her safety. They would not let me stop them."The syllables hit Marie like a physical blow. For a second she could not breathe. "They what?" Her voice was small an

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    Fiona halted a yard in front of Marie and took a breath, the cameras devouring the hesitation. "Why are you doing this to me?" she asked, and the statement was not a question so much as an accusation. "Why are you constantly besmirching my reputation? Do you think Philip would be proud of this? I never—never—did anything to hurt you. Why persist in persecuting me—and even my daughter Liza? Tell me, Marie. Tell me now."Her voice shook with rage until it hardened to brittle steel. She advanced and took Marie's hands, clasping them with such force that the woman winced. The reporters' shutters stuttered in a blur.Marie's eyes were brimmed at the corners, fury and embarrassment intertwined. She managed to free one hand and spat the reply like a blasphemy. "Because you stole the one I loved. I loved Charles first, before Philip—before any of it. I cannot bear him happy with someone else. I won't let the Billion fortune pass into your hands."

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    Inside the mansion, Jamaica stood before the raging fire, her outline chiseled in gold by the blaze.Fiona arrived with stealth, cradling the flash drive."She's smart," Fiona whispered. "But not invisible.Jamaica swung her head around. "No one is invisible, my dear. Least of all those who think they are."Fiona's pause was hesitant. "You mean to reveal her?""When the moment is right.""And when is that?"Jamaica's eyes rose to look beyond the glass at the storm. "When the truth will hurt her more than the lies ever damaged us."The morning broke without pity.Marie Drams awoke to quiet that wasn't hers—too quiet, too calculated. She rolled over in bed, bedding in a knot, her heart racing and off. The champagne flute on the bedside table sparkled with pale light.Her phone vibrated. One text. From Brenn.We have a problem.Her eyebrows furrowed. She responded immediately. What sort of problem?

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    She looked out the window. Outside, the storm clouds massed again, dark and foreboding.“Let her burn herself out,” Jamaica murmured. “Then we’ll end this—for good.”The rain had returned by noon.It came down in thin silver curtains, streaking across the long windows of the Billion estate like ghosts that refused to leave.Fiona stood in the atrium, arms folded, eyes distant. She hadn’t slept. None of them had.Madam Jamaica’s instructions had been clear that morning: No interviews. No statements. Wait for the next move.But now there was one."Ma'am," one of the butlers said, moving inside. "A woman is here to see you. Says it's an emergency. Her name's… Layla Vern."Jamaica set aside her chair. "Send her in. Alone."The butler hesitated. "She appears… scared.""All the better," Jamaica said.Layla Vern appeared in the room as a specter, her hand

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