Все главы CEO's Only Wife: Глава 91 - Глава 100

The bathroom was quickly filled with the sound of her tearful sniffles and humiliating sobs. The reflected light, bouncing off the four walls seemed to affect him for a second. He didn't usually feel guilty, and she seemed to have an uncanny ability to bring it out. This feeling is… strange, uncomfortable and frustrating to death. “That's enough! I cried because I was embarrassed more than anything. Don't cry anymore." The sound of his voice filled the room, and the girl was motionless, clearly frightened. Eric sighed. “Here, this will help.” Eric put a small amount of lubricant on his finger and gently squeezed her clitoris between his thumb and index finger. She shivered, stunned by the touch, and he knew she was silently signaling him to let go of her sensitive flesh, but of course he wouldn't. “I'm fine, Kitten. It'll be fine," he reassured her gently and began to rub her wet center. He's very skillful, that's why, always careful not to rub too hard, just as always careful not to

It was late, late enough to be called late depending on how one viewed it. The girl was sleeping right next to him, her butt pressed against his groin. It was surprising that she fell asleep so easily, even though he thought he had put her through a lot. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair, hidden beneath it was her own scent. He thought of her curious fingers buried deep in his wavy blond hair. That was the first thing she did. His entire scalp tingled, the sensation running down the nape of his neck, down his spine, and radiating to his extremities. One simple touch of the hand and he immediately doubted he would keep his promise. But he remained motionless. He wanted to know how far she would go. At the same time, he also reminded himself that this was part of the training process. Allow her to get used to touching and getting to know a man's body. Not every man is like him. They found pleasure in taking more than in giving, and Eric had only just taught Kitten h

I thought about what had happened before, it was almost impossible to clearly perceive the events that were taking place. If I just looked at everything like I was watching a movie or reading a book, I would think it was fascinating. But to live in it, in the flesh…how terrifying I think that is. Almost so. Just thinking about it made my heart beat harder and faster in my chest, but this time was different than before. Moreover, I also have a feeling of heaviness, slackness, almost tingling in the abdomen. It reminds me of the feeling I had when I was a kid, playing hide and seek in the dark. I don't want to be caught, but just sitting there wondering if I'll be found is both exciting and scary. At that moment, I realized that suspense is what I like, not hide and seek. Being around Eric always caused that feeling. I kept seeing his face, eyes closed, head tilted to my hand, soft male flesh beneath his fingers. The whole thing played out over and over in my mind, but a series of flas

A few minutes later, I finally managed to push the chair close enough to the window. I climbed up there and fumbled for the ledge. Please let my thoughts be right. My heart screams in my ear and I close my eyes to fight the doubt. Finally, I felt a small trigger and my heart stopped beating completely. Glancing back at Eric. The anger had left his face, but the fingerprints were still there. I whispered a silent prayer, stepped down, and slid open the door. Eric's voice came from behind, "Kitten," he sounded worried or sad about, "Don't let me find you." Is that a threat? I won't stay to find out. Never looked back. I ran with all the strength my legs could muster. My lungs burned as my feet pounded on the dusty ground. It's still early, the ground hasn't warmed up yet. I wanted to scream for help, but wasn't sure I was far enough away for Eric to hear, so I just kept running. Up ahead, I saw a man in an apron pushing a sled full of crates into a building. "Help me!" The man looked

After Eric left the pub, I hadn't moved from my hiding place beneath the bar for over an hour. At least I think so, my sense of time has really deteriorated. Repeated weeks of being held hostage in a dark room would do it. Finally, the hippo who calls himself Tiny pulled me by the arm and shook me until I stopped being hysterical. When I had calmed down, I asked, "Why are you helping me?" The guy just frowned at me. “Because you look like you really need help. And you're American." He led me outside, where the bartender, Javier, was waiting in an old pickup truck, rusty pale blue of unknown origin. I was afraid to get in the car. How would I know where they were going to take me, or what they were going to do once they got me where they wanted to go. All I know is that Tiny told me that I would be safe and that he would help me. If I had more options, I would avoid that sloppy motorcyclist as far as possible. The truth is this: I had no better choice, and he knew it. So I got into