Chapter 1 Nameless Faceless

• 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 my 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.