"You promised me your virginity and your body. I was foolish to pass on the first, but like a debt collector, I am here to take the latter which belongs to me. Your body is mine, Rosianna." A loved one who became a stranger and a heart filled with secrets... “Oh, Rosy,” Santos whispered, his voice sending shivers down her heated body. “Do you remember?” “What?” she asked, even though she feared that she already knew what he was asking. He leaned closer to her ear. “That night six years ago? Right here, in this house, in this room...you begged me to take your body” Her eyes closed at the pain of the memory. “Let me go, Santos. I don’t want you anymore.” she lied. Pressing his body against hers, his hand slid underneath the towel and caressed her there. She leaned into him and moaned throatily. He nibbled at her ear, and whispered, “That’s not what your body is saying, darling.”

Chapter 1 One

ROSIANNA

“Yes, baby. Oh...yes...!” I cried out louder as the guy thrust deeper into me. Fuck, it felt so good.

The guy spanked my big ass as he impaled me harder with his big cock. I would have told him not to spank me, but I was so deep into the fucking, I ignored him.

I was feeding my addiction. I didn’t really have a choice here.

“Aww fuck,” he groaned, rubbing my clit before his sneaky fingers went much lower, as he plunged into me from behind, over and over.

I could feel my body tighten. My release washed over me as I cried out. I saw stars as it catapulted my body into a whirlwind of sweet pleasure. His groan reached my ear, and his body shook over mine as he found his own release.

I got up after and walked naked to the bathroom without a backward glance. I took my time washing up, not giving a care in the world if my visitor left. I wish he would. It’d make things a lot easier.

An hour later, I came out and was relieved when I saw an empty room.

I didn’t even know his name.

I didn’t care.

I never did.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Rosianna Bells, and I’m twenty-four years old. I own a small but successful textile company, so you can consider me a rich woman. I am addicted to sex. That is the hidden me.

To the outside world, I was a rich, businesslike woman that barely smiles at the opposite sex. People respected me out there in society—which I deserved, by the way. I was what you could consider cool, reserved, and collected. But in the inner world, I was just a sex addict who couldn’t function without regular sex; I’d been that way since I was eighteen. I slept with different guys every few days.

Nameless. Faceless. All I wanted was their dicks. The orgasm they could give me.

I know you’re judging me but save your breath. I don’t care what you, or anybody else for that matter, thinks.

No one has a right to judge me. No one.

Dressed in a well-tailored business suit, I walked into my two-story building of a textile factory the next day and came to a stop at the commotion in the office.

On an average day, everyone organizes themselves and does their jobs perfectly. “Guess this is not a normal day,” I muttered. They were all in a group, murmuring whatever gossip they had going for them.

“What’s the commotion about?” I spoke loudly, my brows knit in a frown.

Gasps broke out. They all turned in my direction, eyes wide, and the groups scattered immediately.

“What’s going on?” I repeated, already feeling dread because of their behaviour. It was very unusual.

One of my employees started to speak when, all of a sudden, the door to my office opened and a man walked out of it. I froze when I saw who the man was.

This must be a dream, a bad dream. There’s no way he’s in my office right now. It must be a hallucination of some sort.

“Rosy, darling, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you not glad to see me?” the man’s deep voice inquired.

That voice...

My body shivered, and my knees went weak. Oh, God in Heaven, he is real.

Santos Rome Hathaway. Even after six years, I’d recognize the voice of my uncle’s adopted son anywhere. Santos and I didn’t see eye-to-eye. We’ve always disliked each other. Always.

We were always fighting. Always arguing. Always quarreling. Santos Rome could be a real jerk sometimes.

It didn’t help that he was very handsome, and women fell all over him. He was a well-known and renowned playboy. He left the country six years ago, and I had already made peace with the fact that he would never return—that I would never set eyes on him again.

Santos was the one man on earth I swore never to have sex with. It was a vow I planned to keep until the day I took my last breath.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, composed. When did he get back to town, anyway?

His eyes made a show of sliding all over her body, caressing like a lover’s touch. “I came to see my beautiful sister,” he drawled provocatively.

“We are not related.” I didn’t know why I always felt like pointing that out.

He shrugged in a way that said, “That’s not the point.”

We were drawing attention already. Unwilling to create a scene, I walked past him and headed straight for my office, leaving him to follow. I prayed he didn’t follow.

I wasn’t surprised that he did.