ROSIANNA
"Yes baby. Oh...yes...!" I cried out louder as the guy thrust deeper into me. Fuck, it feels so good.
The guy spanked my big ass as he impaled me harder with his big cock. I would have told him not to spank me but I was so deep into the fucking, I chose to ignore.
I was feeding my addiction. I don't have a choice.
"Aaaw fuck." He groaned, raising his finger to my clit, he flickered and caressed it as he banged me from behind.
I can feel my body tighten and I cried out as I lost control. I saw stars as I came, my body shook a bit as he continued plunging in and out of me. It didn't take long for him to come too.
Afterwards, I went to the bathroom to clean up. I took my time in the bathroom like I always do. I don't know why I always try to do that.
It's not as if I'll be able to wash away what I just did. Wash away the dirt. The disgust.
Nah, I've never been able to do that. So, why the hell do I keep scrubbing my skin until it's red and flaming?
I came out much later and the guy was gone. Not surprised. Never has been.
I don't even know his name.
I don't care.
I never did.
Let me introduce myself. My name is Rosianna Bells and I'm twenty four years old. I own a small but successful textile company. So, needless to say, I'm a rich woman.
I am addicted to sex. This is the hidden me.
To the outside world, I'm a rich businesslike woman that barely smiles to the opposite sex.
I'm respected out there in the society like I deserve. Yeah, right.
I'm cool, reserved and collected.
But in the inner world, I have been this way since I was eighteen. I sleep with a different guy every few days.
Nameless.
Faceless.
All I just want is their dicks.
I know you're judging me but save your breath. I don't really care what anybody thinks.
No one has a right to judge me. No one.
***************
Dressed in a well tailored business suit, I walked into the two-storey building of textile factory the next day but came to a stop at the commotion in the office.
On a normal day, everyone has always been organized. Everyone would have been doing their job. Guess this is not a normal day because everyone stood in groups murmuring quietly.
"What's the commotion about?" I spoke loudly.
Gasps broke out. Groups scattered. Movement everywhere. They turned to face me.
"What is it?" I repeated, already feeling dread because of their behaviours. Did something happen? Isn't it too damn early for that?
One of them finally opened her mouth to speak... But, just then, the door to my office upstairs opened and a man walked out of it.
My heart didn’t stop immediately. It went on with its rhythm for a moment, the kind that simulated hours, before it lost the blood it needed to keep on pumping.
The blood now shooting to my head, pooling in my legs. Then it stopped. And everything else hurtled, screeched, into consciousness.
Denial, dread, desperation.
It was him. Santos Hathaway. Oh.... Hell...!
Even after six years, I'll recognise my uncle's adopted son anywhere.
And even through my shock and panic, everything inside me devoured each line of his juggernaut’s body, even bigger and taller than I remembered, the sculpted suit worshipping it from the daunting breadth of shoulders, to the sparseness of waist and hips, to the formidable power of thighs and endless legs.
Memory was a sadistic master, lashing open festering wounds with images and sensations, of those shoulders dominating me, those hips straddling me in a frenzy, those thighs and legs encompassing me in the aftermath of madness. Those lips kissing every contours of my mouth until I was senseless and almost mad with feelings.
I tore my gaze and memories away, choking on longing. On dread.
"Rosy, darling, you look like a ghost. Are you not glad to see me?" His deep voice drawled as he walked down the stairs.
That voice...
It was a fist punch to my belly. An ache began in my heart.
Keep it calm, Rosianna. It's been six years. You've always prepared yourself for this day, remember?
The words were not helpful at all.
Santos and I don't see eye to eye. We've always disliked each other and with good reasons too. He can be a big jerk and very annoying.
It doesn't help that he's very handsome, and women fall all over his feet. He's a well-known and renowned playboy.
Santos is the one man on earth I swore never to have sex with. It's a vow I'll keep too.
Even as I felt my lower body tremble at the sight of him. Even as my vagina clenched and my womb spasmed....the telltale sigh of attraction that helps me pick out the next man I fuck.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, composed. I didn't even know he's back in the country.
"I came to see my beautiful sister." He drawled provocatively.
"We are not related." I don't know why I always feel like pointing it out.
He shrugged in a way that says, "That's not the point."
Unwilling to create a scene, I walked past him and headed straight for my office, leaving him to follow. I prayed he doesn't follow.
I'm not surprised that he did.
