Bramwell unfastened his belt buckle, and his lower back sank slightly, revealing the contours that traced the curve of his rounded butt, which curved down to his long, slender legs. After removing his underwear, his large, erect penis looked like a fully loaded cannon, quite different from his handsome face.
He got into the swimming pool. The water was a bit warm, and as he submerged, the rising steam blurred his face.
Julius's shot was very accurate, and no ordinary expert could avoid it. But his own skills weren't average, and since he had been alert beforehand, he only suffered a superficial wound.
The injury was superficial, but it couldn't be described as such. Arabella's telegram was very clear: "Find a way to stall Julius."
To stall Julius, he couldn't afford to be injured. Whether by external force or his own abilities, that was a secret Arabella couldn't know. His skills were best kept buried with him—if they were ever exposed, it would be the day he sacrificed his life for Arabella.
After freshening up, Arabella received the encrypted telegram from her subordinates. She was highly skilled in warfare, her famous battle being a brilliant counteroffensive where she defeated government forces despite being outnumbered. However, this time, the reply was very simple, just a brief question: "Injured?"
Bramwell's heart fluttered as he tenderly rubbed the telegram against his face. The paper felt cool to the touch, but as his skin warmed it, it seemed to become slightly warmer. It was as if Arabella's heart, perhaps near a fire, would only feel the warmth for a moment before it turned cold again—ultimately, her heart was as hard as stone, and even fire could not soften it.
In reality, a person's heart can also be nourished by illusions. Even if the words weren't filled with tenderness or affection, Bramwell could still take them as sweet words, embedding them deep in his heart. Arabella might be cold, but as long as his heart remained warm, he didn't fear being frozen.
He was happily preparing a long-winded response to Arabella, while Arabella was dining alone in her temporary residence. When Taras returned, he happened to witness this scene.
Recently, Taras had used gang conflicts and underworld dealings to gain control of the entire military strongholds in Doma. His followers had grown from thousands to tens of thousands. He seemed naturally suited to blend into the underworld, quickly rising to become the unspoken king of the streets.
Today, to celebrate, he held a banquet. There were four to five hundred notable figures from his gang, with fifty-five tables set up. The atmosphere was lively, filled with clinking glasses and laughter. People in the underworld were all adept at talking endlessly, often spouting empty boasts or idle chatter. Taras sat in the central seat, a cigarette dangling from his lips, exuding confidence as he surveyed the full room of distinguished guests. Yet, despite the bustling atmosphere around him, his mind wandered, filled with thoughts of longing.
At that moment, he suddenly wished that the person sitting beside him was Arabella.
He had lost his territory before, and although aligning with Arabella had been a temporary solution, he had no real power or influence. What reason did he have to stay by her side? He wasn't about to become some woman's lackey. Power was a man's aphrodisiac, the capital that made him shine. Now, he felt that it was time to reconsider his position with Arabella.
After his thoughts became clearer, he couldn't sit still. Even with a slender-waisted, long-legged beauty in his arms, he found no attraction. It was strange; he was the kind of man who was wild and unruly, not one for loyalty, and he had always been drawn to women with big breasts, slim waists, and full hips—filling his desires and enjoying rough pleasure in bed. But Arabella, while not a stick-thin girl, was far from the beauty he preferred. She lacked both the looks and the body, and to make matters worse, her personality was cold, cunning, and ruthless.
Why did he find Arabella so incredibly captivating?
Taras practically fled the restaurant. Amid the crowd and his entourage, none of it mattered more than Arabella.
But when he eagerly entered the residence, the temporary rented courtyard was eerily silent, empty of life. Even Raven, who usually shadowed Arabella, seemed to be absent. Lately, Raven had been especially busy, training his subordinates and helping Arabella build a strong, elite force. Taras softly entered, and found Arabella eating heartily at the table. The spread was simple: a plate of meat and a bowl of soup with a few scattered vegetable leaves floating atop. There were plenty of empty bottles scattered across the floor, indicating she had been drinking alone for quite some time. She hadn't turned on the main lights in the living room. The courtyard's connecting lanterns emitted only faint, limited light, scattered in small pools on the ground, giving the place an air of emptiness and cold stillness.
From the lively celebration to the cold, empty space, Taras silently watched Arabella and suddenly felt a pang of pity for her. Though Arabella herself wouldn't feel lonely or care about the simple food, in that moment, Taras truly felt sorry for her. She had no family, no lover, no friends, no passions, not even a homeland. It was as if she truly embodied the saying, "Drunk, no one cares; dead, no one buries." Arabella had become an unfeeling statue—unyielding, indestructible, but no one ever cared about the pain endured during the forging of such a statue.
"Why are you back?" Arabella raised her hand and greeted Taras with her usual smile. But today, Taras found that smile especially striking.
"I missed you. Want me to come back and drink with you?" Taras casually sat down, popped open a bottle, and took a few swigs. Afterward, he spat and complained, "This wine's too weak."
"Royal wine. Are you really complaining?" After finishing the bottle, Arabella leaned against Taras's shoulder. As the alcohol settled in, her body grew warm and restless. She casually undid the top two buttons of her shirt, revealing a graceful expanse of skin beneath her collarbone. Though not the most strikingly sharp, it was still alluring and majestic. Taras couldn't resist reaching in, his lips trailing down her neck, as if he were savoring every inch of her, afraid she might slip away.
He was being so gentle for the first time, as he usually had a more intimate approach with Arabella on the bed. They didn't care about being modest or not, as they weren't in a relationship. All that mattered was feeling good. This time, Taras felt that he couldn't use much force. All he had to do was to rip open the clothes and have sex with the person on the spot. Arabella has no sense of propriety or morality, so she can fuck anywhere. It was perhaps that fleeting glance that stirred a sense of tenderness in him, a tenderness that left him at a loss, unsure of what to do next.
The corners of his eyes curved upward, his narrow black pupils gleaming with a seductive warmth. Despite his wild nature and his imposing physique, his voice was unexpectedly melodious, like the delicate notes of a song, each word flowing with rhythm and cadence, making it sound like a love poem, enchanting and intoxicating.
"Royal wine? Is it from that general again? Master Unknown, it seems you've grown quite close to him lately." With a sip of wine, Taras lingered, his lips tracing the seams of the shirt, the liquid spilling under her nipples, its fragrance filling the air. The kiss was not enough; his fingers gently teased the tender nipple, slowly circling, coaxing out a crimson hue, irresistible against the snow-white skin.
Taras took his time, rolling his Adam's apple, his suppressed breath rising in heat. His lips and tongue moved with warmth, inch by inch, top to bottom, slowly stripping Arabella with his kiss, until she was bared completely to him. His eyes were unusually bright, his pupils reflecting her soft, snow-white body, filling his gaze entirely, as though his entire being was consumed by her.
Arabella tilted her head, a smile dancing in her eyes as she asked, "Is this... jealousy?"
"Just a little." Taras admits openly, his nature always leaning toward taking, but right now he's holding back the bloodlust. Something about that brief moment of pity messed with him, and the veins on his massive, erect cock that made him even more off balance. Unfortunately, someone else added fuel to the fire, as Arabella held up his pants zipper with one hand and pulled it up and down, the metallic sound of the zipper's chain like a bothersome hook, causing him to take a deep breath.
"Must I be rough with you?" Taras gritted his teeth, his lips curling as if he wished to swallow Arabella whole. Yet he restrained himself, continuing to tease her with a slow, deliberate touch—like a stream of clear spring water, gently enveloping her, taking care of every part of her with tender, meticulous attention.
"Take it slow? Can you hold back?" Arabella's fingers moved with dexterity, and before Taras could react, his belt buckle was already undone, the massive bulge within, like a caged beast, roaring to break free from its confines.
Biting gently at Arabella's ear, Taras narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased with her teasing touch. He let out a soft grunt and murmured, "Let me see if you can truly hold back, Master Unknown." As he spoke, the exploring fingers of Taras moved lightly between Arabella's legs, gently caressing the wet, hot, and protruding bud of tender flesh. The fingertips teased and played, and the thumb turned, inserting itself into the opening of the moist, pulsating hole. The fingers then slid deep inside, following the slippery stream of semen.
"Master Unknown, are your vagina drinking there? You've made my hand drunk," said Taras in a soft voice, adding a saucy remark. After that, he used his finger to gently touch the inner wall and felt the tightness from all sides as he had hoped. He couldn't help but arch his back, his deep, muffled groans becoming especially seductive, making the listener's bones tingle.
"Taste it?"
Taras showed no mercy, lowering his head without hesitation and parting the two lips of flesh with a sucking motion, sliding smoothly into the glossy lubricant.
Arabella felt very comfortable with one hand supporting her body on the ground and her legs tightly wrapped around Taras. She held a bottle of wine in her other hand and took a deep breath before tilting her head back and taking a big gulp of the drink. It seemed that her legs were ticklish, as drops of wine spilled out and ran down her cheek, as if she had just swallowed some erotic liquid.
The clitoris was licked until it shone bright red, and when Taras looked up, he even pulled out a trace of semen. He noticed the liquid on Arabella's lip and felt that he could no longer hold back his desire in his groin. Screw pity. Fuck this woman, Arabella, and do it hard. That's what's hot.
The freed sexual organ was already hard and purple-hot, and with a straightened waist, it was thrust forcefully into the open cleft of the vagina, which had already been prepared. As soon as it was inserted, the already lubricated and heated vaginal wall immediately wrapped and contracted around the sexual organ, completely swallowing it in.
"Damn it - this is all wet!" Taras growled in a hoarse voice as he tore open Arabella's cheeks with his hands. While he was thinking about Arabella's pitiful state, he was also aroused by her bold and unrestrained energy, which made him want to inflict pain on her.
