Read The End of Tomorrow for Free Online Page B

lifting me up into his lap to straddle him. I opened my mouth to protest, but his eyes darted to the driver.
    “You know how I like it, Estelle.” He unzipped his zipper, bringing a gasp from my parted lips. I shook my head, pleading with my eyes, but I could see the vacant look in his stare as he sat me on his opened zipper.
    His hands crept up my thighs as I hovered over him, his cock lying between my lips. When his fingers gripped onto my hips he dug in, forcing me to circle in his lap as if it were a dance. He used me to jerk himself off as if he was waiting for me to let him slide himself in. But I didn't. I hovered there, unsure of my next move. He’d called my bluff as I had called his. He always had to win.
    He lifted his head, staring at the Russian Red lipstick. “Really?”
    “You put it there.”
    “I was testing you.” His words had become soft so I felt them more than I heard them.
    “Then we both failed, I suppose.”
    “Yes.” He nodded. “I suppose. We never have been the sort to succeed, though have we?”
    I shook my head slowly, staring down at his mouth. I wanted a thousand bad things from those lips but not in a vehicle with a driver.
    His hazel eyes held almost no green. They had darkened as his mood had. He narrowed his gaze for a moment, plotting or something equally nefarious. As the driver put the car into drive, lurching us forward slightly, Servario brought my hips down, forcing me to grind on his bared cock.
    He muttered things, soft and yet disturbing, “I am going to fuck you so hard when I get the chance, you won’t remember ever having been with another man.”
    “I know.” I nodded as he and the car rocked us both.
    We traveled this way, him forcing me to sit on his dick but not have sex.
    When the car stopped Servario lifted me to my knees as he zipped his pants back up as if it were nothing.
    He climbed out when the driver got the door, and then turned back, offering me a hand. I tried not taking it, shocked and disturbed and ready to lose my temper over the last several moments, but he snatched it. He dragged me as if I were a child having a temper tantrum. On the drag in I noticed we were outside a hotel surrounded by the ocean. The warm salty air hit me like a ton of bricks. I was immediately grateful that I had chosen the outfit I did. But then I noticed several women in abayas and other garments covering most of their bodies. It was like the scene from Pretty Woman where she struts Rodeo Drive in her hooker boots held up by pins. My midriff was like the most offensive thing I could have shown. His disgusted look made sense now. I had been so wrapped up in tormenting him, I had forgotten about blending in.
    Servario didn't check into a hotel like most men. He strolled straight past the front desk, nodding at the man who scurried after us. The man met us at the elevator.
    “Mr. Servario, I am so pleased, sir, to see you. The suite is ready for you.” The poor man looked stressed beyond words.
    It was there I realized we were staying at the sail-shaped hotel Burj Al Arab in Dubai. I remembered seeing several articles on it because of its unique shape. When we got into the elevator I caught a glimpse of Servario’s fierce stare in the reflection. He squeezed my hand, holding tightly like he was trying to tell me something.
    The elevator ride was tense. The air was heady, regardless of the air conditioning.
    The attendant gave us an awkward stare, confused perhaps by my outfit or just by the fact that Gustavo Servario was in his elevator. I would be uncomfortable too, had he not played with my ass on several occasions. Once someone does something that intimate, it’s hard to fear them properly.
    I struggled with his grip until we were in our room. Then he let me go, flexing his hand, and staring at the room.
    “We were meant to stay at The Palm, but I like to change my mind at the last second to avoid predictability.” He pulled something from his pocket, placing it