Page 9 of Saved By A God
I set my bag down on the armchair, and knowing I have a couple of minutes, I peek into the private bathroom finished in polished stone and brushed gold fixtures.
When slow, sensual music drifts from concealed speakers overhead, creating a seductive atmosphere, I know it’s time.
Shit. Here we go.
My heart beats faster and faster, and sucking in a deep breath, I take off the coat and drape it over my handbag. I kick off the uncomfortable stilettos, and climbing onto the bed, I move into a kneeling position, my back to the door.
I’m hyperaware of my surroundings, and the moment I hear movement, my muscles tense up.
You’ve only booked this room for fifteen minutes. It won’t take longer than that.
Just fifteen minutes.
A weird sensation skitters down my spine, and just as I begin to frown, fingers brush over the tattoo on my back, which spans from beneath my shoulder blades to the top of my butt.
Even though I expected to be touched, I still jolt before trying to mask it by moving onto my hands and knees.
I hear a zipper being pulled down, and it makes a shiver rush through my body. When the sound of the guy putting on a condom and lube registers, my eyebrows draw together, and I bite my bottom lip while my hands fist the covers.
Is he staying fully clothed?
The instant I feel his cock at my entrance and his hand on my hip, my eyes go wide as saucers, and heat flushes my neck and face as I’m hit with a severe case of embarrassment.
Nope. A year wasn’t long enough to think about this. I need another minute.
Before I can say the safe word I selected, he thrusts hard. A gasp is ripped from my throat as he hits deep while yanking my butt against his pelvis.
The pain is so intense that my thighs instantly tremble and my elbows buckle. I’m given a moment to adjust, but my mind is too scrambled to take in anything.
He pulls back, and on the next thrust, I grab a pillow and shove my face into it to smother my gasps.
I’m so rattled and caught off guard by the burning ache that I don’t think to put a stop to it. Tears sneak from my eyes, and I bite back the sob building in my throat.
His grip on my hips tightens as he moves faster and faster until he sets a punishing pace, and by the grace of God, I somehow power through.
When he comes, his breaths are harsh. He doesn’t groan or make any other sounds, and I focus not to whimper when he pulls out.
Knowing it’s over, relief pours hot and fast through my body. I barely wait for him to go to the bathroom before I’m off the bed. Avoiding looking anywhere but at the armchair, I quickly put on the coat, grab my stilettos and handbag, and hightail it out of the room.
As I rush toward the lounge where people are enjoying drinks, the pain in my abdomen doesn’t lessen at all. By the time I’m out of the building, sweat dampens my hair beneath the wig.
I practically tackle the backseat as I get into the SUV, then order, “Go. No questions. Just go.” Alessio gives me a worried look, and I repeat, “No questions.”
During the ride to my fortress, I sit stunned while staring at my trembling hands.
God. That was awful.
Gianna was right.
My chin quivers, and feeling disappointed in myself, I pull my phone out of my handbag and go into Paradiso’s system to delete my profile and remove any trace that I was ever at the club.
By the time I get home, the cramps feel like a bad period, and I’m relieved when Alessio doesn’t say anything.
I head up to my apartment and go straight to the bathroom. When I take off the coat and lingerie, I see the blood coating my inner thighs, and worried it’s abnormal, I do a quick search on the internet while relieving my bladder.
It burns like fire, but Google says it’s normal in some cases.
Switching on the faucets in the shower, I wonder why it hurt so much to have sex. I thought I’d be okay because I’m used to a vibrator.
