He was not like a naughty puppy, who conceived a dirty trick, or something like a rapist maniac who chose a victim. The tip of the wet tongue occasionally appeared at the corners of the mouth; eyes the color of milk chocolate eagerly ran around, stopping for a fraction of seconds at the beautiful women, which, by the way, the bar was enough.

Amal forced herself to look away from Angelo. There was nothing attractive about him; rather, on the contrary, he caused in her a cross between scorn and disgust because of his sweet smile and sly, always excited eyes. But she, unwittingly, all the time was returning thoughts to what happened a few days ago.

They traveled to the beach in a big company: with a dozen Albanian guys and a few Russian girls - from those that go to Italy to get beautiful men and good sex. Girls Amal did not even try to remember - they changed every week; but the guys already knew almost everyone - it was Daimon’s company, her Daimon, and he didn’t let her go from him for a moment since they met a month ago. Angelo, of course, was also with them: with Dimon, they were not spilled.

In the evening, when everyone was already leaving, Daimon dragged her into the semi-darkness of the grove behind the net that enclosed the beach. She stood holding the iron mesh fence, leaning against her bare chest, and he had her behind: eager, rude and insatiable - however, as always. She moaned with pleasure, pierced her body with hot waves, and yet something was wrong. She could not get rid of the incomprehensible anxious feeling that someone was watching them.

So it was. Almost imperceptible in the haze of a gray-pink sunset, he sat on a sunbed just fifty meters away from them. Calmly, as if nothing had happened, Angelo watched them.

Amal pierced a hundred emotions in a second - from embarrassment and fear to anger and indignation. She wanted to stop Dimon, who did not suspect anything, to tell him, but it was at that moment that he clamped his hand over her mouth: he often did this when he wanted to fuck her especially hard, but they were in a public or quiet place, and you could not shout .

He kissed her neck, and, biting her shoulder, inserted her sharply and to its full length, causing her eyes to open wide with pleasure and pain. Amal burned with shame, looked away, hoping that Angelo would leave when she looked there again, but every time he was there and carefully, seriously looked at her. Finally, making sure that Daimon did not notice anything, she began to look at Angelo - embarrassed at first, and then openly and arrogantly, hoping that he would be embarrassed by this, and he would leave. He not only did not leave, but also seemed to start to grin awry (she was not sure - it was suddenly dark, in a few minutes).

Sensing that Daimon would end soon, she quickly turned around, knelt in front of him, and he drove his tense cock to the limit down her throat, pressing her head to his hand. She felt bitter sperm running down her throat.

Daimon asked her to wait in the grove, saying that he would grab something from the car and return in a minute. In the meantime, she began to look for panties on the ground, which he, in a fit of passion, pulled off her and threw her somewhere to the side. She had a great deal of effort not to look where Angelo could still be sitting. Seeing, finally, white lace thongs, she leaned over them and seemed to look at where he sat by chance. He was absent.

Something hard and cold poked between her legs. Daimon put one hand around her neck and did not allow her to unbend, and in her right hand he held a baseball bat - she put her on to her still wet and hot pussy.

“Honey,” he whispered, leaning toward her so low that her hot breath stirred her hair at the back of her head. - Once again, throw out something like that, and I will rape you with this here ..., - the head of the bit pressed on her hole, being, fortunately, too huge to slip inside - and here ..., - he moved the bat a little higher, resting his elastic small ass. - Got it?

She wanted to argue that she did not want to look at his friend intentionally and simply did not know what to do. In general, she was sure that Daimon did not notice anything, and now indignantly asked herself in her mind why he didn’t stop if she knew that Angelo was watching them. But the claims remained unspoken, and she only nodded her head.

“My good girl,” Daimon took the bat away, spun her around and gently kissed her lips. - Come on, love.

She shook a wave of golden curls, chasing the memories away like a nightmare. In the open area of ​​the bar has already gathered decently people: Saturday evening was in full swing. She noticed that there were even more Albanians here than Italians. They chose, however, this cute town. And the Russians are mostly young girls, sipping coctails and throwing languid glances to dark-skinned guys. Hmmm, Angelo won't be lonely tonight.

- What are you thinking about?

Daimon flicked her finger along the tip of her nose. She smiled. God, how beautiful he was after all: dark, tough hair was gathered in a high tail on the back of his head, and his bright gray eyes, contrasting with dark skin, gave him a slightly insane look. High cheekbones, thin, clearly defined lips ... He smiled, unlike Angelo, rarely, but how beautiful he was in those moments. And all dimples. These innocent baby dimples. Thanks to them, he looked younger than his twenty-eight.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” muttered Angelo, “this one I would ...”

Shaking her hips, a waitress approached them. Not tall, slim, but with attractive shapes. She could have been given both eighteen and thirty: even black hair was trimmed into a neat square just above the shoulders, exactly like a schoolgirl; the huge almond-shaped eyes looked innocent and slightly surprised, but at the same time fascinated by their seductive darkness. She was not Italian; rather, a Spaniard or a gypsy. Plump lips opened, and a clear child's voice rang like a silver bell:

- What do you want?

“You are very beautiful,” Amal herself did not understand why she suddenly decided to tell her that. The girl smiled and thanked up, thanking her. They ordered a drink, the waitress left.

- Whew! - Angelo depicted how he fanned with an invisible fan. - Well, I would have torn it off, I would have looked at how she would clap with her innocent eyes when she would have my cock in her mouth in her mouth ...

Amal winced. Daimon, noticing this, genuinely laughed and smacked her on the cheek.

They sat for another hour or two, meeting many acquaintances. Angelo's attempts to part the waitress on a hot night did not succeed, and finally they decided to go home. While the men were paying, Amal went to the toilet. Entangled in the institution, she went to the bar to ask where the restrooms are located. There she was, the charming waitress Cara. She showed Amal where to go, but before she could move, she clung to her wrist.

- Listen to me, Amalvita. Go through the back door that is next to the restroom, and leave, take the train and go away to another city, another country.

Amal didn’t even pull her hand away - it was so amazing that Cara knew her full name. She was sure that no one in Italy knew him.

- How do you...

- It does not matter. I am a gypsy, I know something that many do not know. He is evil. He is crazy, I can see it in my eyes.

- Who? Daimon? Yes, why ... Why ... Why did you even decide to tell me that?

- I liked you. Listen, beautiful, you do not need him ... He you ...

“Now that's enough!” Amal pulled her hand away in annoyance. - She told me - thanks, I'll figure it out further.

She turned and headed for the dressing room, and her heart was pounding with anger at the waitress who had spoiled her mood.As if she herself did not understand that Daimon does not love her and he needs her as temporary entertainment. So what! As if ...