Pain And Pleasure 18+✓

Thirty-eight

His tight embrace feels like heaven; it's as if he knows what my body wants every single time he touches me, and for once I don't have to beg for someone to understand my needs. His breath rocks mine as if we're deeply connected by the thread called love.

Pathetic. I know.

The last thing I needed was to be thrust like a slave, and thankfully he gave me a tad of relief from the tied-up session prior. It felt like making love when he fucked me today. It was smooth and gentle. Honestly, I can't keep up with him. He's full of surprises and intrigues.

When I expect less, he gives me more.

His heart beats in rhythm against my ear, a big arm scooting me like a little thing by the shoulder. He seems relaxed, and I'm feeling rightly so. Skin to skin, I feel melt in his warmth, and no embrace has ever felt this safe ever since my dad left. But it's different.

Same but very different.

"What are you scheming, woman?" His hoarse voice caresses my ears and a smile resonates on my face.

I thought he was asleep. Boy!

My body shifts as I adjust my posture, laying my left arm across his perfectly-coded chest. Hard, tanned, with those glorious abs that seem to enjoy the burn of sit-ups and cardio.

What a marvel!

"I'm thinking about the tattoo on your back. And this one, too." My eyes linger on his right pec, where the ink is strewn into a small eight-pointed compass.

Is he a wanderer? I wonder what a compass tattoo means.

And frankly, I never thought he's into tattoos until today. The prominent one in his back is very intriguing, almost storytelling, even though I hardly got the chance to see it clearly. And this one—I try to touch it but he instantly flexes.

In fact, he edges away.

"You have to eat. Get dressed," he mutters dryly as he hoisters himself up, leaving me bereft under the bed sheet.

Mutely, I watch his large frame move gaily with absolutely no cloth on. His confidence amazes me. Ignoring the Greek godly rear view that can easily arouse me, my focus remains on the Eagle embroidered from his neck to his mid back, the wings spread to his stout shoulder blades.

He looks even more intimidating this way. Very uncanny like an X-man. Apart from his tattoos, I realized he's got several scars on his chest—a few cuts included—and his knuckles are slightly calloused as if he's accustomed to fist fights. Probably in the past.

Hold on, Arabella! He ain't a gangster, dammit. Is he? Or worse—what if he's into mafia and I'm dealing with some notorious mobster here? I muse and then snap out of it as Adrian slips into his jeans, currently facing me quite intently.

Anything is possible. Who is he?

"Should I be worried about that furrow on your pretty face?" Adrian quizzes while snatching the zipper of the jeans he's put on. "What is it, Arabella?" He looks at me as he zips up.

"Nothing." I'm just growing curious about you. Hugging the bed sheet onto my chest, I simply tell him, "I'll be down in a short while. I'm gonna look for something to wear."

He nods. It doesn't take long until he disappears through the door, leaving me with plenty to think of.

Damn, my life! What am I doing with this man? Why am I here taking whatever he throws my way?

I got A hundred thousand dollars even before I accepted to be his for three weeks which is not normal at all. It wasn't the payment for sex as I previously imagined. No, it wasn't. I feel like there's a bigger reason why he's here with me, and paid me so much for it.  It can't be a simple affair, can it?