Page 21 of Capo
“Look at my guest,” he growls as he puts his hand between her legs. “Don’t take your eyes off her.”
I don’t know if he’s talking to me or her, but our eyes connect and for a brief moment there’s sympathy in her gaze, and worry, before she closes her face and there is no emotion at all. She just goes blank. I swallow against the ragged ball of fear in my chest as my eyes keep darting between her face, her pussy, and Salvatore. He’s caressing her, his fingers sliding along her slit, spreading her pussy lips, circling her clit until her hips start rocking. He pushes two fingers inside in one rough thrust and she gasps, then he keeps thrusting as he puts his other hand to her clit and keeps rubbing it. I don’t know where to look as blood rushes to my own pussy. If I thought it was erotic before, it was nothing to this. I clench my thighs together, grind my teeth and fight the increasing syrupy heaviness between my legs. Fuck him! The girl’s lips part and she’s getting flushed. I’m sure she can fake an orgasm like a pro, but I have no doubt this is real. Salvatore keeps me pinned with his gaze. He handles the girl as if he really cares about her pleasure, but his leery expression tells another story.
This show is for me. He’s telling me something, but I can’t for the life of me figure out what. His pace picks up, the girl pants louder, gasping for air, rocking back on his thrusting fingers. I expect him to pull out his cock at any moment and shove it in, but all he does is pleasure her, because that’s definitely what he’s doing. She can’t hold my gaze anymore as her face contorts and she begins to mewl. Finally she screams and buries her face in the padded leather seat, her entire body twitching. She looks like her knees will fold any moment. Salvatore slows his pace, leisurely moving his fingers in and out of her now glistening wet pussy. Shudders ripple through her body. He stills and pulls out. She doesn’t move. Leaning over, he whispers in her ear, then they both look at me. I shrink back. My pussy is pulsating, desperately wanting the same treatment, because by God, that looked hot. But not from him. I don’t know what he’s up to, but it can’t be good.
Rose stands and grabs the hem of her dress, pulling it up and over her head in one swift move. Dropping it on the chair, she walks up to me, stark naked, and holds out her hand. “Come.”
My eyes dart between her and Salvatore. He stands passively, his face unreadable. What is this game? Wincing as I hold out my hand, I take hers, surprisingly strong, and let her pull me to my feet, renewed pain stabbing my ribs when I move. I follow her as she moves to a door to the side and pulls it open.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She closes the door behind us. We’re standing in a small bathroom, a toilet, a sink, and to our right, a glass door to a shower.
“I’m to clean you up.” She lowers her voice. “What happened to you? Did he do that?”
“Clean me up? What?”
Rose pulls open the glass door and steps inside, turning the faucet until the water flows on the dark gray tiles, tilting her head for me to follow. I widen my eyes, then I hold up my cast. “I can’t.”
She leans closer, whispering, “You don’t say no to Salvatore. He tells you to shower, you shower. Come on, I’ll do your hair.”
“But I… my arm.”
Her eyes dart to the door, as if she could see the man through it. “Please. He’ll punish us both.”
The room steams up fast. Tears well up in my eyes and my lower lip trembles as I let her lead me under the warm stream. “Did he really get you off?” I whisper. The water soaks my cast, fills the sliver of space between it and my skin, softening it. It won’t support my broken arm much longer.
“I don’t come with customers,” she says, and starts caressing my soaked hair.
Relief floods me as I turn to look at her. It was all fake. Of course he wouldn’t give someone pleasure.
“But I did,” she adds as she clicks open a shampoo bottle and pours a large amount of flower-scented pink gel in her palm. “Turn around.”
I obey and close my eyes as she begins to massage my scalp. “Was it…” Her hands are so gentle that I lean back into her touch, wanting more. No one has given me even the slightest amount of tenderness in what feels like forever. “Was it good?”
She huffs. “Yeah. Too fucking good. I’m still expecting the blow. He has a reputation… He’s not nice with the girls he brings here.” She pushes me forward a little, letting the stream of water rinse the shampoo out of my hair. “What’s your story?”
I don’t know if I should tell her. Maybe it will put her in danger too? “I… made some bad decisions.”
“Step back,” she says, and rubs my wet tresses. “Conditioner. And yes, I’d say.”
“What does he do with the girls?” My voice barely carries the words. I have no idea what awaits me. All I know is that it can’t be good. It won’t be good.
Rose puts a hand on my shoulder, making me turn to her. Her gaze is filled with concern, and the fear we both share. Pouring soap into her hand, she lathers down along my good arm, my hips, my ass cheeks, my thighs, inside and outside. The air thickens between us, or maybe it’s me in my confused and still infuriatingly aroused state. Crouching before me, the girl looks up, biting her lower lip. “You’re beautiful,” she whispers.
I scoff. “No, I’m not.”
She stands, dragging her hands up along my body, making my nipples peak. “Yes, you are. I see it even though you’re bruised.”
I glance down on my black and blue skin, the swellings over cracked ribs, big black marks on my thighs, the cast that is now soaked and useless, and swallow hard, sorrow over what I’m losing stabbing through my chest.
“He’ll want you,” she says softly.
“That’s not a good thing.”
She shakes her head. “No, it isn’t.”
“Can you help me?” I whisper. “Can someone help me get out of here?”