Chapter 887: Gabriela’s Pitiful Pussy
Jayden gave a curt nod to the officers. "Get him prepped for transport. Full dical escort—ambulance is waiting at the loading bay. No stops, no visitors until he’s in the secure wing."
Two uniforms moved in smoothly, unlocking the bed brakes with practiced efficiency. The third adjusted the IV pole and oxygen line while the fourth pushed from the footboard.
Diaz’s eyes stayed locked on us—on —until the very last second, that crimson flicker of hatred burning behind the glaze of pain and defeat. His thoughts brushed mine one final ti, low and venomous:
This isn’t over. You think you’ve caged ? I’ll sing every na... and then I’ll find a way to make you pay.
The wheels squeaked against the linoleum as they rolled him out. The door swung shut behind them with a soft pneumatic hiss, leaving only the echo of retreating footsteps and the distant beep of monitors fading down the corridor.
Gabriela’s arms tightened around my waist like iron bands. She buried her face against my chest, body trembling so hard I could feel every shudder ripple through her. Her full breasts mashed harder against —soft, heavy, still flushed and sensitive from everything we’d done in that locked bathroom less than an hour ago.
The thin fabric of her new charcoal dress did nothing to hide how her nipples pebbled against my ribs with every ragged breath she took. Grief and sha poured out of her in quiet, choking sobs.
"I didn’t know..." she whispered, voice fracturing. "My own son... doing those things. All those years... I thought he was just... lost. Angry. But this? Murder? Corruption? I’ve failed as a mother. Completely."
Her fingers clawed at the back of my shirt, bunching the linen like she needed sothing solid to hold onto. Another sob wracked her, pressing her hips instinctively forward until her pelvis ground against my thigh—unconscious, desperate, seeking comfort in the only way her body still knew how.
I slid one hand up her spine—slow, firm—until my palm cupped the nape of her neck. My other arm stayed locked around her waist, keeping her pinned to
so she couldn’t pull away even if she wanted to.
"You can’t be blad for this," I murmured against her hair, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Not even a little. You raised him with love. You gave him everything. The choices he made after that? Those are his. Not yours."
She shook her head against , tears soaking through my shirt in hot patches. "I should have seen it. I should have known. I was too busy... too blind... too—"
"Too human," I cut in gently. I tilted her chin up with two fingers, forcing her red-rimd eyes to et mine. Mascara had run in faint black tracks down her cheeks; her lips were swollen from biting them to keep the sobs inside. She looked wrecked—beautifully, heartbreakingly wrecked.
"You loved him," I continued, thumb stroking the tear track on her cheekbone. "You still love him. That doesn’t make you a failure. It makes you his mother. And right now, he needs you more than ever—even if he hates you for it. Even if he hates ."
Her breath hitched. Fresh tears welled up, spilling over.
"But he called ... those things..."
I leaned in, pressing my forehead to hers so our breaths mingled—warm, unsteady.
"He’s in pain. He’s scared. He’s lashing out at the one person who still gives a damn. Let him hate
instead. I can take it." My voice dropped lower, rougher.
Her eyes fluttered closed for a second. When they opened again, sothing raw flickered there—grief, yes, but also gratitude, surrender, and that dark, lingering heat we’d stoked in the bathroom.
She pressed closer—deliberately this ti—her breasts flattening harder against my chest, hips rocking in the tiniest, neediest motion. A soft, broken whimper escaped her lips.
"Jack..." Her voice was barely audible. "Hold . Please. Just... don’t let go."
I tightened my arms around her until there was no space left between us. One hand slid down to the small of her back, fingers splaying wide, pressing her pelvis flush against
so she could feel exactly how hard I still was—how the sight of her crying, clinging, breasts heaving against
only made
want her more.
Gabriela’s sobs had quieted to soft, hiccuping breaths, but her body stayed glued to mine—hips rocking in tiny, instinctive circles, grinding her soaked dress against the thick ridge of my cock. She needed this. Needed oblivion. Needed
to erase the echo of her son’s venom, the weight of her guilt, the image of that hospital bed rolling away.
"Co on," I murmured against her temple. "We’re leaving. Now."
She didn’t argue. She just nodded—small, broken—and let
guide her out of the hospital, one arm locked around her waist, the other shielding her from curious glances in the lobby. The shadow guards followed at a distance, silent as smoke.
Twenty minutes later, we were in the penthouse suite of the ridian Hotel—top floor, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights, heavy blackout curtains half-drawn. The door had barely clicked shut before Gabriela turned into
again, arms wrapping around my neck, face buried in my throat.
"Don’t let go," she whispered, voice raw. "Please... just don’t let go."
I backed her toward the massive bed, hands roaming—sliding up her thighs under the dress, cupping her bare ass, feeling the sticky remnants of my earlier cum still leaking from her stretched hole. She whimpered when my fingers brushed the sensitive rim.
"I won’t," I promised, voice low and rough. "Not tonight. Not ever."
I kissed her then—hard, claiming—swallowing her little sob and turning it into a moan. She kissed back desperately, tongue hungry, nails raking down my back through the linen shirt.
When I yanked the dress over her head in one rough tug, she didn’t flinch. She just stood there—naked, flushed, tits heaving, nipples dark and swollen, thighs slick with our ss.
She pushed
backward until my calves hit the edge of the mattress. I sat.
She climbed onto my lap imdiately—straddling , knees bracketing my hips, cunt already dripping onto my trousers.
Gabriela’s sobs had quieted into ragged, needy breaths by the ti we reached the hotel bed. She shoved
down onto my back the second my knees hit the mattress, climbing on top like she owned —eyes wild, mascara-streaked, tits heaving with every frantic inhale.
"Fuck , Jack," she hissed, voice cracked but dripping with raw hunger. "Fuck
so hard I can’t rember anything. I don’t want to think about that ungrateful little shit anymore. I want your cock to erase him—every scream, every word he spat at . Pound it out of my head."
She yanked my trousers open with shaking hands, freeing my cock—already throbbing, leaking at the tip. Without hesitation, she straddled , lined up, and slamd herself down—taking every thick inch in one brutal drop. Her cunt swallowed
to the root, walls fluttering violently around the sudden stretch.
"Fuuuuck—yes—there—right there—ram it in , you bastard—make my pussy forget I ever had a son!"
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