Chapter 32
She looked a little like Brooke, and that was his undoing.
Marco Steele always kept a firm hand on the reins of his emotions.
He knew better than to mix business with pleasure, and he sure as hell knew better than to touch the merchandise.
But she looked like Brooke, just a little around the eyes, and a hand reached out of the cavernous abyss of loss he’d been skirting since she disappeared.
Mister, you want blow job?
He closed his eyes as he let out a deep growl. She wasn’t doing it right, wasn’t as innocent or experienced or just plain perfect as his Brooke. He pushed the woman’s forehead away and grabbed his dick in his hand, jiggling it. “Lick my balls,” he commanded. “Suck ’em deep into your mouth.”
Her eyes were not like Brooke’s at all, now that he could see them up close. No one would ever be as pretty as Brooke, or as perfect. He’d been a fool to think this woman could change that, but now he needed to come.
He opened his eyes to watch her. He tugged himself, harder this time. He wanted to fuck her mouth, but she kept doing it wrong and he was getting angry, which made him want to hurt her.
Or maybe it was because she looked like Brooke that he longed to wail her with his open hand until she screamed.
How could she do this to him? Didn’t she know he loved her more than anyone else ever could? He’d taken care of her. Given her everything she could ever ask for and more.
If it weren’t for him, she’d be no one, nothing at all. Olivia Grayson was nobody, but Brooke Barrons was a star.
Teeth scraped his scrotum, making him stiffen and shout. “Careful!” Closing his eyes, it was Brooke’s mouth he was sinking into, and she loved the flavor of him, the intimacy of this act, even though Brooke had never taken him in her mouth.
A guy can dream.
She wasn’t Brooke anymore. She was nobody, there only for his pleasure. When he was satisfied, he let go of her hair and she fell to the floor like a rag doll. “Get up,” he said.
Her worried eyes got big and round. “You be nice to me now.”
He laughed and grabbed her wrist, pulling her down until she was bent over his lap. “That’s not how this works.”
He hit her sharply, his eyes closing again. “Now tell me you’re sorry for running away.”
She was silent.
He hit her again.
“I sorry for running.”
He began to relax. “Now tell me how much you love me.”