Read Novel Full Chapter 613: Emily Is A Naughty Slut
Chapter 613: Emily Is A Naughty Slut
"You bastard—" she breathed, but there was no real venom in it. Just desperation. Just hunger.
Then her gaze locked onto mine.
And froze.
Her dark, kohl-lined eyes widened, her plump lower lip trembling as recognition slammed into her. For a heartbeat, she just stared, her chest heaving, her fingers still clenched in the ruined fabric of her dress.
Then, her hand dropped.
A subtle flick of her wrist, her fingers curling in a gesture so small it was almost imperceptible.
The bodyguards stopped dead.
The ruined emerald silk clung to her like a second skin, the dark coffee stains mapping the swell of her breasts, the tight peaks of her nipples pressing against the damp fabric. Her kohl-lined eyes—wide, dark, glittering with something between shock and hunger—locked onto mine as her plump lower lip trembled.
"Oh my God—" Her voice was breathy, unsteady, her fingers still clutching the soaked dress to her chest. "You—you complete—!"
I didn’t let go of her waist, my thumb brushing the exposed slope of her breast, just lightly, just enough to make her breath catch.
I probed her mind with Telepathy, slipping past her defenses like a thief in the night.
[Hm... Who is this handsome guy?]
"I’m so sorry," I murmured, my voice low, sincere, even as my other hand slid up her arm, my fingers tracing the delicate bone of her wrist. "I didn’t see you—my mind was elsewhere. Let me make it up to you."
Her thoughts unraveled in my mind, raw and unfiltered:
[Oh, fuck. His voice is like whiskey and sin—smooth, but it burns going down. And his hands—God, his hands—they’re everywhere, but not enough. Not nearly enough.]
[I should be furious. I should slap him. But...]
Her gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower, to where my fingers still rested against the damp silk of her dress.
[...But I don’t want to.]
My lips twitched. So. She didn’t know me.
Guess I’m not that famous yet.
She swallowed, her throat working, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
"You—you ruined my dress," she said, but there was no real anger in it. Just heat. Just need.
"I am really sorry. Let me buy you a new one... as an apology," I promised, my thumb circling the stained fabric, teasing the edge of her nipple. "The finest one. Whatever you want."
[Oh, whatever I want?]
Her thoughts turned dark, hungry:
[I want his mouth on me. I want his hands ripping this dress off me. I want him to fuck me against the nearest wall and make me scream his name—]
[Should I keep him as my pet...?]
The idea sent a shiver down her spine, her nipples tightening beneath the soaked silk of her dress. She imagined it—you, on your knees, your mouth between her thighs, your hands gripping her hips while she pulled your hair and moaned your name—
[Victor’s been fucking around a lot lately...]
Her thoughts soured, her fingers clenching around her coffee cup. The porcelain creaked under the pressure.
[Haven’t seen him in weeks. Too busy with his whores and his wars. Too busy lying to me.]
[If he can play, so can I.]
A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips.
[One night. Just once. A secret. A first and last time one-night stand.]
Her mind flashed with images—your hands on her bare skin, your mouth on her neck, your cock filling her so deep she’d forget her own name—
[Just like some of my friends do...]
She scoffed internally, her fingers tracing the gold chain at her throat.
[They all swear it’s liberating. No strings. No regrets. Just pleasure.]
[Just one night of pure, selfish fucking.]
Her gaze flicked back to mine, bold now, challenging.
[And then I’ll discard him. Like a used toy.]
[No one will ever know.]
A thrill ran through her, her breath hitching as she imagined it—the hotel room, the silk sheets, the way your body would feel pressed against hers—
[He’ll worship me. And then I’ll walk away.]
[And Victor will never find out.]
Her lips parted, her voice a purr:
"You know..." She leaned in, her perfume—jasmine and something darker—wrapping around me. "I don’t even know your name."
I grinned, my fingers still resting on her waist, my thumb brushing the damp silk of her dress.
"Names are overrated," I murmured, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. "But if you insist... You can call me Jack."
Her breath caught.
[Oh, fuck.]
[He’s not just some pretty face.]
[He’s dangerous.]
[And I like it.]
She bit her lip, her teeth sinking into the soft flesh, her thoughts a whirlwind of lust and defiance:
[One night. One fucking night. And then I erase him from my memory.]
[But God, I’m going to ride him until he begs like a sweet little boy.]
She straightened, her fingers trailing down my chest before pulling away—just slightly, just enough to pretend she was in control.
Emily’s crimson lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile, her kohl-lined eyes glinting with mischief and heat.
"Hello, Jack..." she purred, her voice a velvet blade, "My name is Emily Rain..."
But then she leaned in, her hot breath hitting my ear, her lips brushing the shell of it just long enough to make my cock twitch. Her voice dropped to a whisper, fake-shy, fake-innocent—
"That..." Her finger traced the coffee-stained silk over her left breast, her nipple hard and visible beneath the damp fabric. "I may also need to buy some... undergarmets..." Her tongue darted out, wetting her lower lip, her eyes flicking up to mine. "Since your coffee has soaked mine..."
I followed her gaze— Her finger was pressed against the dark, transparent patch where the coffee had seeped through, the silk clinging to the swell of her breast, the tight peak of her nipple begging for my teeth.
And then I noticed— The bodyguards weren’t watching. They weren’t even looking.
The one by the entrance was staring at his shoes. The big brute near the pastry display had turned his back completely. The third was pretending to adjust his cufflinks, his jaw clenched like he was counting to ten. The last—the most dangerous—was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling like he was studying the architecture.
Emily Rain wasn’t just Victor’s wife. She wasn’t just his prisoner. She was something else entirely.
And she knew I’d just figured it out.
I didn’t hesitate.
My hand shot out, grabbed her breast—hard—my fingers sinking into the soft, heavy weight of it, my thumb rolling over her nipple through the damp silk.
"Oh..." I murmured, my voice dripping with fake remorse, my eyes locked on hers as I squeezed, feeling the heat of her, the pulse of her heartbeat against my palm. "I am so sorry, Emily..."