Diosa. Selena

      DIOSA

      Selena

      Artcover: Solacanis

      Copyright: BERLINABLE UG

      Berlinable invites you to leave all your fears behind and dive into a world where sex is a tool for self-empowerment.

      Our mission is to change the world - one soul at a time.

      When people accept their own sexuality, they build a more tolerant society.

      Words to inspire, to encourage, to transform.

      Open your mind and free your deepest desires.

      All rights reserved. It is not permitted to copy, distribute or otherwise publish the content of this eBook without the express permission of the publisher. Subject to changes, typographical errors and spelling errors. The plot and the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to dead or living people or public figures is not intended and are purely coincidental.

      Vitor smiled painfully. A vein over his right eye pulsed, betraying his irritation.

      “When in doubt, restart!” Vitor recited rote, folding his glasses into his shirt pocket.

      It was the third time that day that he had been called to solve a problem that boiled down to stupidity. But that was the nature of the occupation, and he was getting paid enough that he could suffer through several of these every day. If they wanted to waste their money, overpaying him to tell people to restart their computers, that was their prerogative. He peered down at his watch. Nearly six. Might as well wrap it up before anyone could catch him and wrangle him into righting some inane human error.

      It was raining when he stepped into his car. He’d neglected to bring an umbrella. His worn leather jacket hung from his shoulders, slick with rain. The collar of his button down shirt was damp. He sighed, turning his keys to start the car. He began driving, his mind wandering from work, to Gianina, to how he would spend Saturday helping Ed build his porch. Suddenly, he looked up and realized he was there. Without realizing where he was going, he’d wound up at Vixens. He frowned. He did not want this for himself, and yet, there was nothing he wanted more for himself. He opened his wallet to count his money, even though he already knew exactly how much he had on hand.

      Earlier that day, he had stopped by a bank to withdraw $3,000. He was not putting down money on a car or rental. He was clearly not going out for an extravagant lunch. It was all about the buildup and planning, in a way. The anticipation of walking through those familiar doors and watching some of the most stunning women walk around completely nude. It didn’t feel coarse. There was a poetry to their bodies. The way a shoulder sloped or a breast hung, the sensation of warm skin and sweat, fragrant and slick. It was impossible to evade at length. And he missed her. Her intelligent eyes, plump lips, elegant hands, the way she strode up to him and assessed him the first time. Was this mortal man worthy of her attention? Of course not. In no world aside from here would she have considered getting close to him. She was young, and breathtaking. He was a man under the shadow of his own mortality. His life was self-denial for family, career, and status. He had always done the right thing. He had married his grad school sweetheart and together they had raised two well-adjusted young men. He played on a community soccer team and hosted neighborhood functions. Of course, those things gave him pleasure. He cherished his family. But he hadn’t made love to Gianina in years. It wasn’t intentional. There was something he needed that he couldn’t quite place. For years he’d blamed it on a lack of blowjobs. He wanted to see Gianina’s lips wrapped around his thick brown cock, but considering it more deeply, he realized it was more than that. Or maybe it was the lack of willingness to even venture there with him when he felt he had a lifetime of exploration left to do. But did the reasons matter?

      Vitor took a seat, a familiar warmth traveling up between his legs. He spotted her almost immediately, draped across another customer, facing away from him. Vitor couldn’t see her face, only the face of the man enjoying her luxurious attention. The man appeared utterly spellbound by Camilla, as was often the case. No one seemed immune to her beguiling charm. Vitor knew this well enough, as he sat and watched, waiting for her to turn her magnetic attention to him. He would have waited for hours if it was what she had wanted. He would have handed her all of the money in his wallet simply for a kiss. But he would never tell her that. She knew her power already, perhaps not the lengths to which he would go for her, not how little she could be doing and still keep him on his knees, willing to give her anything.

      Camilla turned, covertly checking the room in the midst of her conversation with the other man. Vitor knew her. He knew how keenly aware she was of the goings on behind her, even when she was turned away. She leaned in to whisper into the man’s ear. She was making her sale. Vitor imagined her humid breath against him, the melodic tone of her voice, the way she would run her fingers through his hair as she negotiated her rates with him. Was it a soft sell, or a hard sell? He was hard, she was made of the softest things.

      Camilla stood and took the man’s hand. They went to the register and paid, then walked down the dimly lit hall to the champagne rooms. She briefly made eye contact with Vitor and winked. It happened so quickly, it was almost as if he had dreamed the wink. Had she really seen him? He waited patiently in his seat. Other dancers came and sat on his lap. He tipped them $20 for their time, but declined anything more.

      Fifteen minutes went by before she emerged. Vitor didn’t realize he had been taking such shallow breaths. Camilla ducked into the dressing room. He began sweating. She was coming for him after, right? That was what the wink had signaled? Moments later, he spotted her across the room. She wore a sheer lavender robe with feather trim around the edges and a pair of white patent and leather boots that ended a precious few inches below the feather trim. He knew the feel of her inner thighs, her velvety soft skin, a bit of moisture as he inched his way up.