Greg grabbed Sabrina's arm and quickly led her down the hall. He squeezed it, hard. His touch was brusque, almost rude. To her, it seemed that he was rushing, wanting to get to the bedroom as soon as possible. She followed willingly, but had trouble keeping up with his purposeful strides.
Sabrina is 5'3, mixed Asian and Hispanic heritage. The blend created a woman who turned heads around the world. Brunette hair, dark brown almond shaped eyes, flawless olive complexion, and a perfectly proportioned figure. She was spending time with her lover after her husband committed suicide earlier in the week. But in truth, she felt no grief—her husband, Rick Davis, had been a power mad bully, whom she was happy to be rid of.
Sabrina cheated on him constantly through the last five years of their marriage. She met Greg Turner on her last fling, and he captured her heart.
Greg was a self-made billionaire with a rocky past. Six two, body sculpted like a boxer, piercing blue eyes and sandy hair, he made his money in high finance. He was one of the few people who bet against the mortgage industry—and made himself fabulously wealthy in the process.
There had been a prison term some years back, but he was framed—by Sabrina's now-dead husband. He saw her capture as fitting revenge.
But now, he was angry about a bogus news story that suggested he was responsible for Rick's death. He would get to the bottom of it, but first, felt he needed to take out his anger on his newly captured beauty.
"Why...what are you doing?" she asked, panting as they reached the master bedroom door.
"Shut up!" he snapped, pushing her into the bedroom. He stripped off his shirt, popping two buttons as he revealed his broad, heavily muscled chest. "Strip! Now!" he demanded.
Sabrina was speechless. Where was the gentle, caring, man she fell in love with? This person was a raving beast, snorting, barking orders at her. She nearly challenged him, but something in his gaze stopped her short—his eyes were cold, ruthless, and raked her body like a laser.
Perhaps it was the news story that set him off. But whatever had done it, he was an animal now.
She shivered under his glance, quickly pulling off her blouse and shorts. She was still wet from their encounter at the table. His fingers had drawn her into an orgasm almost against her will, at dinner!
"Come here and suck me—now!" he barked, dropping his pants. His erection bounced crazily in front of him, a drop of precum glistening on the purple tip.
She hesitated, not knowing what to do next.
He pulled her wrists, grabbed her by the neck, shoved her head down on his cock, and commanded, "Suck, you bitch! Suck!"
"Don't you call ME a bitch! Who the hell do you think you are?!!!" she snapped, livid with rage.
"I'm Greg Turner, and you're my bitch! Now SUCK!!!"
He yanked on her ponytail and pushed his cock deep into her mouth. "That's right, suck it! You know how!"
Powerless, she opened her jaws wider to take as much of him as she could. He was assaulting her mouth! What had possessed him? Where did this angry being, full of disdain and rage, humiliating her, come from?
She had forgotten his prison time, the rage he displayed which nearly had him sentenced to life for a stabbing while he was inside. As it happened, he was cleared because it was ruled self-defense—still, he harbored the anger as an undercurrent to his life.
It was something that had driven him to excel in the investment business. And as he observed the wild recklessness gripping the real estate markets in the mid-2000s, that same rage, that same disdain for convention, that same anger against Wall Street, pushed him to bet against the system with his credit default swaps.
A move which made him unimaginably wealthy.
Sabrina had forgotten that part of his past, seeing only the fruits of his labor in the opulent lifestyle he now enjoyed. And in truth, she never made the connection between his rage and his investment success. She thought the two were unrelated, when in truth, their interaction defined him.
