บททั้งหมดของ DIRTY DREAMS: บทที่ 171 - บทที่ 180

I sit on the velvet. It's soft against my bare skin – warm, textured. I part my legs. My thong is soaked through – the fabric dark with wetness, clinging to my pussy, showing the outline of my lips through the sheer material.He kneels between my thighs. Pushes them wider. Leans in and presses his mouth against my pussy through the thong – one firm, open-mouthed kiss directly on my clit through the wet fabric – and I jolt like I've been electrocuted."Fuck –"He inhales against me. Deep. Like he's breathing me in. Then his teeth catch the edge of my thong and he drags it to the side with his mouth – no hands, just teeth and lips pulling the fabric away from my soaked cunt until I'm exposed.His tongue touches me and my hand flies to his hair. I grip the back of his head through the mask's strap and pull him closer and he groans against my pussy – the vibration shooting through my clit – and starts to eat me.He's filthy with it. Not delicate, not teasing – he licks me like he's been s

I open. He pushes his cock past my lips and I take him – salty, thick, stretching my jaw – while her fingers rub my clit and the man behind me fucks me and I'm filled from both ends, stuffed, overwhelmed, a masked fuck toy at a party full of strangers who are watching a woman they'll never identify get ruined.The white mask man fucks my face – shallow thrusts, his hand gentle on my jaw – while the man behind me accelerates, his hips slamming against my ass, his cock driving so deep I feel it in my chest. The gold mask woman pinches my clit between two fingers and rolls it and I cum with a cock in my mouth and a cock in my pussy and a woman's hand on my clit – a full-body, shattering orgasm that makes me scream around the cock in my throat and gush down my thighs and onto the stone balcony.Below us, in the garden, the audience has grown. A dozen masks tilted upward, watching. And in the garden itself – something shifting. A couple near the fountain starts kissing. Not politely. His h

He pushes back in. Faster now – his hand gripping my hair, his hips thrusting, fucking my face with less control. I choke and drool and tears streak my mascara and the sounds coming from my throat are obscene – wet gagging, sloppy sucking, the desperate moans of a woman bound and kneeling and being used.He spits in my mouth. Over his own cock, his saliva landing on my tongue alongside his shaft, and the filthiness of it – the ownership, the marking – makes my pussy flood so hard I feel it running down my inner thighs above my stocking tops.He pulls out. A bridge of spit connecting us. He grips my jaw. Tilts my face up. My mascara is running. My lips are swollen. Spit and pre-cum coat my chin and drip onto my tits."Beautiful," he says. Not gentle. Like the word is a weapon. "Now stand up."He hauls me to my feet by the belt binding my wrists. Spins me – face-first against the hallway wall, my tits pressed against the cool plaster, my bound hands in the small of my back. He kicks my

My father owes two million dollars to a man who dissolves problems in acid.That’s the word on the street – not metaphorical, not exaggerated. Luca Moretti runs the eastern seaboard’s most profitable organization and the people who cross him don’t file complaints because the people who cross him stop existing. My father borrowed money eighteen months ago to save his restaurant. The restaurant failed anyway. The debt didn’t.Now Luca wants payment and my father – fifty-seven, diabetic, hands that shake when he’s scared – called me crying at 4 AM saying they’re coming, Elena, they’re coming for the house and I did what I’ve always done. I fixed it. I called the number my father was given and said I want to meet with Mr. Moretti and the voice on the other end laughed and said he doesn’t take meetings and I said tell him Anthony Vasquez’s daughter wants to negotiate and the line went quiet and then: Tomorrow. 8 PM. Come alone.I’m standing in the lobby of a building that doesn’t appear on

He pushes into me in a steady, continuous push that doesn’t pause or adjust, just sinks deeper and deeper until he bottoms out and I feel him against my cervix and my mouth falls open and the sound that comes out isn’t a moan, it’s a plea."Fuck – Luca – you’re so –”“Deep?” He holds still. Buried to the hilt. His scarred hands cupping my face – both of them, holding me like I’m breakable while his cock splits me open. “I’m going to go deeper.”He pulls back. Slow. The drag of his cock against my swollen walls is agonizing – every ridge, every vein, the texture of his uncut cock creating friction that cut cocks don’t achieve. He pushes back in – harder, deeper, his pelvis grinding against my clit at the bottom of the stroke.“Look at me,” he says. “I want to see your face while I’m inside you.”I look. His dark eyes hold mine and he starts to move – slow, deep, grinding strokes that press my body into the silk with each thrust. His hands stay on my face. His thumbs trace my cheekbones