Stolen Dove: Stolen Hearts Series by Blake, Carina (ebook reader 7 inch txt) 📕

he's rough with me, I'm turned on. There are no words for how aroused I am. Can I be happy with just his orgasms? I don't know. Maybe I'll be able to get a hobby. I'm sure he'll be too busy most days for me and won't give a shit what I do as long as it's not with any other man. That I understand clear as day.

The vehicle slows and then turns to stop in front of a large stone wall and iron gate. There are two men guarding the area, and they open it when they see Fernando. We drive past them with a nod, and the gate slides back in place the second our vehicle passes through.

I'm floored. This home is much larger and grander than Avanti's, and I was completely intimidated by the smaller building. I can't believe this is supposed to be my home. A thought strikes me, and it slips past my lips. "I'll finally have a bed."

"What?"

"Nothing.” I pale, hating that I said that loud enough for him to hear.

"That's not fucking nothing. Are you saying that you didn't have a bed at home?" His brows arch while his face hardens.

I blush, feeling completely embarrassed. "Don't be ashamed. You have nothing to be ashamed about." He growls something to himself, and I sense that he's upset for me. Finally, the vehicle comes to a stop in front of the grand entrance. Strangely, a sense of coming home hits me.

5

Victor

The bastard that I am, I’ve given her no choice—but then again, I did back in the room before I took her virginity. The choice wasn’t a real one: life with me, or life being trapped in the grasp of her sick father after giving her pussy to some old married bastard. I had no intention of letting that happen because I would have snatched her up either way, but for some fucking reason, marking her as mine became a must, and my sweet girl wanted it. Her body lit up for me like a Christmas tree. But her father will be dealt with. I will gut that fucker myself.

No one is allowed to do anything to harm my little Dove. Fuck, I hate the way I need her so much. It’s blinding and dangerous because my enemies will have a precious new target to aim for, and I refuse to give them an opportunity to strike. Seeing her happy became my mission, but I’m not even sure how to do it after how we met and the fact that I’ve never wanted to please a woman in this way before. My body aches to carry her back to bed, but it’s too soon.

I want to snap at the fact that she's been so fucking deprived that it's a crime. Her father was anything but what a real father should be. At least I had my mother's love to make up for my father's neglect, and we never went without. Where was her mother this whole time?

"Dove, what happened to your mother?"

"When I was six, she fell ill and died of cancer, leaving me with my father who suddenly wanted his freedom, but I was his little burden."

"I’m sorry about your mother.” I can’t imagine losing my mother. “I'm surprised he didn't toss you in a foster home or something."

"There was money to be had. My mother's life insurance and family inheritance was left to take care of me. He managed to blow through every dollar and then some, and that's how I ended up as a commodity." Fuck, it kills me how much she hates me. How will I ever get her past how we met? Hell, I hate myself for it as well.

“Come, we are home.” I take her hand, intertwining our fingers, and lead her out of the back of the SUV. I might not be a known criminal, but I’ve learned to ride the line often enough and even dip my foot into the cesspool. I’ll be burying bodies pretty soon, though. No one gets away with treating my bride like that.

“Wow, this is bigger than the home we met at. Please don’t tell me you host parties like that.” She drops her chin and narrows her eyes with a look of revulsion.

“I don’t host any parties, and especially of such disgusting design. But we will have one to celebrate our marriage here.” I lead her to where several of my staff members are waiting to greet us, but I get an uneasy feeling of territoriality so strong that I change my plans. She’s hardly dressed for people.

Maria, my housekeeper of six years, approaches. “Señor Serrano, welcome home.” She’s a good woman, unlike the last housekeeper. When my father died, I brought in an all-new staff, including Maria. I look at the row of staff members and remember that my wife is half naked; instantly a twinge of jealousy stabs me between the eyes.

“Gracias, María. This is my wife, Dove Serrano. You all will address her as Señora Serrano or Mrs. Serrano. Do not disappoint me. We shall be down in the morning. Excuse us.” I’m never this terse or abrupt unless there’s a major issue that has me running out of the house. I squeeze my wife’s hand and lead her past all of them and up the marble stairs. I had planned on introducing her to the head staff members, but then I realize three of them are men and I want to rip their eyes out. Now, all I want to do is mark her with my seed again so everyone knows that she’s mine.

I should be giving her a tour of her new home, but it’s late and I can’t think straight with her body in only my shirt. We enter our bedroom because now I want to forgo everything but owning her body. I release her hand just long enough for her to walk into the center of the room while I lock the door,