Liar Liar I
Alejandro's POV
The only thing I hated more than being told a lie, was continuously being lied to.
And when the coward was stupid enough to ignore the countless opportunities to come clean, I wanted nothing more than to have their heads smashed before me.
To experience the moment a sliver of regret passed through their eyes before they became lifeless little beads was too satisfying to pass up.
And in my line of business, I was fortunate enough to be able to deal with liars how I pleased. With no remorse or empathy.
But when that liar was a nineteen year old brat who had my mind a mixed up mess, there was nothing I could do but let the rage build up within.
I'd remained composed on the outside, keeping my mouth shut and taking all the disrespect she was sending my way.
I'd fucked up, she was upset and the last thing she needed from me was my anger.
I had been patient, I'd been understanding and worst of all I'd been giving her space, when all I wanted to do was put the brat in her place and then have her in my bed.
The separation between us was getting to my head, affecting my mood and my sleep. But it seemed as though Camila was doing fine without me.
And when I wasn't biting my younger and holding back my anger, I was thinking back to the night that'd caused this all.
I indulged in the little temptress on impulse, without considering all the reasons why I shouldn't, I couldn't.
My streak of bad decisions continued into the night when I'd indulged in temptation only to drop Camila in her bed and leave.
I didn't want to leave, but I needed to. Because while she was pleading with me to stay, I was doing everything in my power to control myself.
I knew myself well enough to know that if I did stay, I wouldn't be sleeping next to her and holding her in my arms like we'd done so many times before. I was still hard for fuck's sake, and my resolve was weak.
I'd fuck her and while the majority of my mind and body wanted that, I couldn't and wouldn't cross that line.
And so, with my body humming with arousal and my mind still high off of her, I walked out on her only to walk right into the mess that was Greta's stunt.
Sleeping in the same bed behind closed doors was never apart of the deal. But of course, Greta had to open her mouth and tell Arnold that she regularly came to stay with me.
When I first heard she spewed that bullshit to her father, I nearly lost it. Greta was making my life so much harder and I couldn't do anything about it without jeopardizing the business deal.
I couldn't afford to ruin this deal, there was too much on the line.
So I forced myself to calm down and think of a viable solution.
Arnold would drop her off at the manor and I would put her in the guest bedroom farthest from my room. Only, apparently she'd weaselled her way into my bedroom, and I didn't find out until I was carrying Camila back to hers.
And while I wanted nothing more than to turn around, drag Greta back to the guest bedroom and crawl into bed next to Camila, I needed to tread carefully around her.
If she sensed that there was something going on with Camila, she'd lose it and jeopardize the deal for me.
And if she ruined the deal for me, all hell would break lose.
I couldn't do that to Camila.
And so, when she'd looked up at me beyond hurt and asked me to stay, I knew I had a decision to make.
Her hurt or jeopardize everything.
Her safety was my top priority, even if it forced me to hurt her. I was playing a dangerous game and I couldn't drag her into it more than she already was.
And thus, I made my decision.
Promising to deal with Greta's antics in the morning, I locked myself in my office, knowing that I'd never willingly put myself in bed with that head case, and I wasn't going to be changing my mind anytime soon.
In fact, my mind was anywhere but Greta. Instead, it was preoccupied with pushing back the urge to storm back into Camila's room and take her right there and then. Repeatedly.
It was difficult to control myself. I tried everything. Busying myself with work, thinking about the next step in this deal, how I was going to handle him, going through footage, anything else.
But my dick wouldn't let up and neither would my mind all circling back to the fact that they were fresh with memories.
My mind still fresh with memories of her legs spread wide open before me, moaning for me.
My dick still fresh with the feeling of her ass grinding back into it as she screamed and pleaded for more. For me.
I slipped up that night and did something I told myself I wouldn't ever do.
But fuck, I was on the same couch where I had her a few hours before. Sitting in the same spot with my legs wide open. Staring down at the same spot on the sofa where she had been seated, grinding her ass into me as my fingers played with her tight pussy.
The memory of her was all I could think about.
Her legs spread wide open for me, her chest heaving with her tits heavy and begging for my touch. Her plump lips parted as soft little gasps and moans spilled from them.
Moans that then turned into screams for me as she squeezed around my fingers. She was so fucking needy and responsive.
It was impossible to get the image of her like that out of my head. Dressed in nothing but that little fucking patch of lace. Lace that barely covered her dripping little cunt and large needy breasts as she rode my fingers, doing such a good job for me.
And at that point I couldn't even be bothered to care.
Care that I was undoing the buttons on my dress shirt, exposing my chest.
Care that I was leaning back against the couch and spreading my legs further apart.
Care that I was hastily undoing my belt buckle and unzipping my slacks as my breathing increased.
Care that I was reaching into my pants and pulling out my cock. My cock that was hard and throbbing at the mere thought of Camila.
Christo, I was so fucking hard and aroused.
My hand instantly found my length and I started off with slow languid strokes, the ounce of attention feeling too good not to shut my eyes and tip my head back.
I opened my mind, allowing the thoughts of her to flow through as I tightened my fist around my cock and pumped myself harder with more defined movements.
I was far too gone, accepting defeat in the fact that I was stroking myself to the thought of Camila.
. . .
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