After being abandoned by her father, Delicious Franks turned to the streets for protection. Selling her body and doing drugs brought her temporary comfort and warmth. Delicious found herself being pimped out and selling her body off to men. Without...
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Ass up and face down, Delicious belly laid flat on the bed while her arms and legs were tied up. Amir moved her down from the ceiling and onto the bed. Delicious groaned from placing her body weight on the bed. Gently closing her eyes Delicious felt Amir shift her body up causing her back to arch deepening.
Delicious legs trembled. Amir uncaring slammed himself inside of delicious. Her walls welcomed his dick creaming all over.
"Amir," delicious cried out. She began to bite and lick the sheets as she drool.
"You gonna listen to me," Amir groaned out.
"No," delicious whimpered. Amie slammed into her again forcing Amir to grunt out " you are gonna listen to me!"
"No Amir!"
"Oh so you not gonna listen to anymore!"
Amir lifted Delicious's body and slammed into her again and began to fuck her at an angle. This made delicious shiver and moan.
"Stop it," delicious cried out in a shaky voice.
"No I'm not gonna stop until you say you're sorry and recognize that you are my wife!"
The storm outside raged, the wind howling through the trees and the rain pelting the windows like a relentless drumbeat. De'mon stood at the entrance of the villa, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. His dark green eyes scanned the interior, catching every detail, and his expression was as unreadable as the black robe he wore, which flowed like a shadow with every step he took. His tattoos, intricate and stark against his pale skin, shifted slightly as he moved, a testament to his power and self-mastery.
Behind him, his brother entered, his vibrant blue robe a stark contrast to De'mon's dark presence. The two were an unsettling pair—one exuding dominance, the other a defiant flair. The silence in the room thickened as they surveyed the occupants. The air felt strained, as if it held its breath, waiting for the next move.
Amir stood rigid by the entrance, his eyes cold and wary. Brutus shifted, his large frame tense, arms crossed as he assessed the situation. The once-friendship between him and Amir was buried under layers of resentment, and now that animosity crackled in the space between them.
De'mon's eyes locked onto Amir. There was an intensity in them that seemed to pierce through Amir's carefully maintained facade. A subtle shift in De'mon's expression hinted at a sharp awareness, as if he were trying to read an invisible script in the room.
"Are you alone?" De'mon's voice cut through the silence, low and commanding, with an edge of suspicion. His senses, honed by years of training and mastery, told him there was something hidden—something he couldn't see but could feel.
Amir met his gaze, unflinching. The air between them thickened, and Brutus noticed it, the muscles in his arms tightening as he prepared to step in.
