WHAT MY BODY WANTS

**ROSIANNA**

"Yes, baby. Oh...yes...!" I cried out louder as the man thrust deeper into me. The pleasure was overwhelming.

He spanked my backside as he pushed harder with his significant length. I wanted to tell him not to, but I was too lost in the moment to care.

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

"Oh, God," he groaned, rubbing my sensitive spot before his fingers moved lower, all while he continued his relentless pace from behind.

I could feel my body tightening. My release surged through me, making me cry out as I was engulfed in a whirlwind of pleasure. His groan filled my ear, and his body trembled against mine as he found his own release.

I got up afterward and walked naked to the bathroom without looking back. I took my time washing up, indifferent to whether my visitor stayed or left. I hoped he would leave; it would make things easier.

An hour later, I emerged to find the room empty.

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 wealthy woman. I am addicted to carnal intimacy. That is my hidden truth.

To the outside world, I am a rich, businesslike woman who rarely smiles at the opposite gender. People respect me in society—rightly so. I am seen as cool, reserved, and collected. But in my private life, I am just an addict who can't function without regular intimacy; I've been this way since I was eighteen. I sleep with different men every few days.

Nameless. Faceless. All I want is the pleasure they can provide.

I know you're judging me, but save your breath. I don't care what you or anyone else thinks.

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

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

On a typical day, everyone organizes themselves and does their jobs perfectly. "Guess this isn't a normal day," I muttered. They were all in a group, whispering among themselves.

"What's all the commotion about?" I spoke loudly, frowning.

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

"What's going on?" I repeated, already feeling a sense of dread because of their behavior. It was very unusual.

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

"Rosy, darling, you look like you've seen a ghost. Aren't you 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 never saw 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 playboy. He left the country six years ago, and I had made peace with the fact that he would never return—that I would never see him again.

Santos was the one man on earth I swore never to sleep with. It was a vow I planned to keep until my dying day.

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

His eyes roamed over my body, caressing it 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 the need to point that out.

He shrugged in a way that said, "That's not the point."

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

I wasn't surprised when he did.

Santos followed me into my office and lowered himself to a chair without waiting for an invitation. I was aware of his eyes on my back as I walked confidently to my chair and sat down too. I stared at him without speaking.

“You've grown into an exquisite woman. You were pretty the last time I saw you, but you weren't this gorgeous. Your curves filled out too,” he said in that lazy drawl that never ceased to send shivers down my spine.

The compliments fluttered me up inside, and I felt my vagina clench. My fingers tightened on the paper I was holding to keep from jumping him. Closing my eyes tight, I took a deep breath to get myself back together again.

I could stomach being attracted to all the men on earth—it was something I have resigned myself to a long time ago—but being sexually attracted to Santos could never be okay. Not anymore.

“You don't look so bad yourself.” I was glad my voice remained controlled.

“Glad you noticed,” he smi