The Price ࿊f Peace

☮️: 025

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Somewhere in Oakland

Syara pushed past Elijah who was standing in the doorway of the room, smirking down at her.

She didn't like this. She didn't like him. She didn't like that he made her feel this way. She didn't like that he could have this type of effect on her.

She'd never felt like this, especially not for a man. Syara felt..different. Like..she didn't even know, but she wasn't used to it.

It didn't make sense.

Why was she feeling so flustered by a mere look? Why was his voice making her wet? Why did she let him handle her in a way she'd never let anyone handle her? If she hated him, why hadn't she shot him already? She would've shot anyone else for far less.

Was she losing her touch? Was she going soft?

What the fuck was happening to her?

Syara barged into the upstairs bathroom, swiftly closing the door behind her and leaning over the sink to turn the faucet on.

She splashed a handful of water on her face, trying to pull herself together.

Syara bent over the sink, gripping it and rocking slightly.

Her legs were clenched together, the fabric of her tight shorts pressed up against her clit, as her pussy salivated.

Syara laid her head down onto her folded arms, with a groan as she willed her pussy to stop throbbing.

She hated him so much. So much.

Syara repeated it to herself like a mantra.

"Le odio, le odio, le odio. Me juro que le odio." She whined to herself.

She heard the door close to the bathroom, but she made no move. She knew who it was. She wouldn't look at him, keeping her eyes buried in her arms, repeating the same mantra over and over and over in hopes that she'd believe it, chanting faster when she felt him pressing up against her behind.

Syara told herself again and again and again, stopping only when she was yanked up by her hair and spun around to face him, a pitiful moan escaping her glossed lips.

His hand was on her throat in seconds, staring down into her pretty, hooded brown eyes. She could barely keep her eyes open as she stared up at him.

"You hate me, mama?" Elijah asked her, his deep voice softening, centimeters from her face, in faux concern.

Syara, for probably the first time in her life, was speechless. She clamped her legs even closer together, holding onto his wrist as he stared down at her.

"Hm?" He reiterated his question, punctuating his question with a squeeze of her throat, cutting off her air for a millisecond. Her pussy instantly got wetter, liquid gushing from her opening.

"Lijah.." she tried. This was embarrassing. She'd made a sloppy mess in her shorts and he hadn't even touched her.

At this point, Syara stopped trying to fight it. He'd gotten her. She was most definitely still thugging, but not with him. If there was one man in the world who could have her like this, Elijah Amir Camilo Amaral was it.

"You hate me?" He tilted his head questioningly, getting impossibly closer to her, the tip of his nose rubbing just barely on hers.

She couldn't answer him, she just stared up into his eyes, pressing her legs together to try and get some relief.

Finally, Elijah closed the gap between her mouth and his, kissing her slow and deep. He squeezed her throat, eliciting a gasp from her mouth, making it easier to slide his tongue into her mouth. He began sucking on her tongue as soon as he came into contact with it.