An Offer She Can't Refuse Book 1

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Chapter 8

I spent two more hours glued to the flat screen.

The small sofa pillow was the only tip of saving grace available to shield myself resting the stuffed velvet on my bare lap I carried on killing time with the green thumb TV segment. Gardening became one of my favorite hobbies from the day t first held a watering can. It was never a boring chore for me to help my father with the yard plants he was growing. Sometimes I regarded it as something more special and gratifying than a hobby, it was a passion of mine. To stroll across a garden every morning pick fresh fruit and veggies. Fertilize the soil, sprinkle water on the drying plants and nurturing a new fresh batch next season. I could be that the thrill of nature and love of planting was just genetic.

My grandparents on both mother and father’s side were small scale farmers that resided in the UK country valley lands. The Kimpers and the Ethans were two families opposed to the traditional gypsy lifestyle of moving from place to place each year or less. The notion became a stereotype for my parents growing up, one neither of them took kindly to. Their plain belief was that a productive and stable environment was best for raising kids. And people, of gypsy blood, or not, didn’t need to journey the world to preserve a happy vibrant culture, so taught to me by my grandma Sofie. Since Kenny and I were of the tender age of five she made it her elderly duty to sing for us the quirky songs she had learnt from her childhood. Our nighttime stories were always her opportunity as well. The tall tales of mythical creatures, fortune tellers and enchanting dessert princesses painted for us an album of happy, youthful memories timelessly etched into my skull. But, those musing revolving around a decade of pure innocence only served to saddened me, my reality was a living breathing melancholy all by itself. My life stood a mess, everything going wrong, wrong just all wrong.

“Come here, cara, I’m ready for you.”

A warm voice called.

I hadn’t realized the Italian curses that he was slinging just a minute ago at some poor but incompetent soul had seized. His cell phone no longer to his ear or in the hand he extended to me.

Meek, half naked and slightly quivering I went where I was beckoned like a shy kitten.

He simpered in delight groping a curvy thigh soon as I was within reaching distance.

I yelped responsive.

“No yet use my touch I see.”

“Your hands are a bit cold.”

I said, defending my reaction.

“Let’s warm them up then.”

He rubbed his palms thoroughly on both sides of thighs.

A pleasing noise escaped him as he kept admiring my every part of my lower and middle contours. He planted a heavy kiss my clit lips he stroked it with his fingers promptly after making me whimper out uncontrollably. “Baby, you’re still sore.”

I nodded trying to remain firm and steady. He might get mad if I suddenly backed away.

“What were you planning on doing in this state?”

I gave him a rueful expression, “sorry.”

Swiftly my pelvis was pulled in arms I flinched continuously feeling of his hand grips. They were on my butt cupping and caressing around the fullness of my cheeks.

Never have I been touched like this, so cardinally aggressive and utterly possessive.

“It amazes how sweet I find you even you make me stark mad.” He began, murmuring raspy, hoisting me onto the desk on his business papers shortly after. Weren’t those important? I didn’t bother to ask.


That word unexplainably hit a deep spot. The way my heart jolted when he said it was overwhelming yet a spontaneous impulse I didn’t understand. But that might’ve been lying to myself, truthfully, I had the rational thought that once I the saw me dressed like a slut, offering up my body to him, I thought he would he never want or see fit to call me angel ever again. The moment I chose to crush my self-respect when I stooped this low to gain what I want. The natural instinct of any spiteful man would be to eliminate such an endearing term of worship from his vocabulary for the unworthy woman he intended to claim as a plaything, a convenient bound mistress, his fantasy, his whore.

“I’m not a selfish sadistic lover, angel, hurting you would do nothing short of sicken me,” his hand swiped a wave of my hair behind my shoulder and went on.

”I suppose it’s my fault you feel you need to go this extra mile, I’m sorry for making you fret so much. In the future, try not to anger me the way you did today.”


His index finger sealed my lips.

“Shh, we can talk about it later.”

He assured softly without a trace of derisive malice.

“Did you use to any relief creams on the swollenness?”

I shook my head.

In my haste to give him sultry show I didn’t have much regard for my soreness which was now that I think about it, stupid. There’s only thing he would reasonably desire and solicit upon catching sight of me in the tantalizations he bought for that very purpose, overlooking the displeasure that might surely strike when he found out he couldn’t.

Too determined to undo the damage I caused at my house I forgot the damage he left on me the past night of high screeching love making.

“Keep it up and I’ll have to take care of this pleasure tunnel all on my own?”

He winked up at me, ducking his head between my parted legs.

“Ah,” I gasped whilst his lips wildly took pecks on my sensitive clit.

“No stop…” I actually started pushing the back of his head away on impulse. His hands quickly snatched mine he beamed up at me.

“I swear you’re going make me bind your hands one day.”

He said slightly irked.

Resuming he poked my entrance with tip of his tongue.

“No, you can’t,” I whimpered.

But he carried on teasing my sex until it got moister and moister probing for his playful tongue. He flicked on my entrance then his chin started thrusting forward he was now inside me his tongue hot and wet as swirled skillfully into my sex. All I felt was sheer electric currents washing over me a satisfying sensation filled me and agony faded when he paused to straighten up.

“Mia Angelica,” He whispered spilling pecks on my cleavage. “I want to see you in this color more often.”

I simpered touching his cheek.

“Johnny, we still need to discuss Kenny.”

His smile immediately vanished.

“That’s all that’s on your mind.”

“No. I just have to know its weighing heavy on me his life is in danger after all.”

“Honestly, I have more pity for you than him to always be forced to defend a worthless bum.”

The harsh words were like a stab to the chest.

“He’s not a worthless bum people do make mistakes sometimes, its human nature.”

“What you call mistakes is grounds for other people to send him to the hospital, that’s their nature and protocol.”

He muttered cynical.

I knew Johnny could be mean sometimes he seemed to lack any empathy, so I tried with all might not to let it bother me, especially when I should be stomping on my pride and keep pleading to him senselessly. But, how could I pretend his jabs didn’t hurt?

“You sound like a heartless savage,” my eyes welled up with suppressed tears though a sob had already escaped.

A long sigh with the scent of brandy filled the sudden silence.

“You’re too emotional to handle the raw truth, Angelica.”

I shrunk burying my torn face in my hands coughing out a painful sob. I couldn’t bear to have him see me so broken and petrified.

“Don’t cry.”

“I don’t want to hear anymore. For Christ sake! Don’t you have any compassion, any, any ounce of sympathy?”

Hands on his head, fingers roughly tugging his raven locks that honeyed mouth turned vile swearing out aloud in most brutish Italian. At least I was only one under heavy frustration.

If a splitting migraine would were take him this exact second I would thankfully kiss the rosary in my purse referred it a blessing by the saint of karma and conscience. Sadly, all I received was a pitied pet on the back of my neck.

The inner circle of his palm found my moistened chin, reluctantly I lifted my head to look, but wouldn’t meet his now sheepish gaze.

“I’m…sorry,” He peeled. “I-I-I’m not good with certain things. Compassion is one.”

His musky cologne stung my nose as he got to his feet and consoled me in a delicate embrace. His lips brushed over temple while equally taking in my scent.

This, this is why I wanted you to stay the whole mess I knew it would more than you handle. I really wanted to spare you the ugliness and trauma.”

“So spare me it, Johnny.” I told him wiping my leaking eyelids, taking what he said to heart. “You win, I was wrong it is too much for me, so please, help Kenny out.”

I curtly exhaled not realized how fast I was speaking.

“I will, angel, for a price.”

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