Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
She’s mine. And everyone knows it. Because all my brothers are here, standing in the shadows. Bella probably doesn’t notice all of them, but I do. The lights reflect off their skull masks. They’re watching, and whenever one of them looks my way, they also notice the white ribbon around Bella’s throat. She’s not ready for a collaring ceremony, not yet, but tonight I’m openly staking my claim.
I used to want to hide her away. Keep her hidden from everyone. But now I want the world to see her. To stand in awe of her beauty. To worship her as she deserves.
I watch her dance, the lights bathing her in red, green, blue, purple, yellow, and back to red.
Wicked thoughts flit across her face, chased by ecstasy. She’s so expressive. All that emotion, innocence, and deviousness in one perfect package.
She’s beautiful like the sky. Like a flame.
And I want her. I wanted to own her, but now I want more. I want her to want me. I want her to be happy… with me.
She deserves so much better than me. In a few years, she’ll be able to snap her fingers and have anyone she wants kneeling at her feet.
It hurts to think about. It hurts to watch her, knowing she’s shackled to me for life and will never be free. That, deep down, she’ll always see me as her captor.
Her enemy.
Every once in a while, she gives me a calculating look, and I know she’s plotting against me. I want her to let her guard down and keep it down. To trust that I won’t destroy her.
But who am I fooling? All I do is destroy.
But in the noise and chaos, I allow myself to imagine us having more. What it would be like if she were really mine. If she looked at me with softness and longing, not just when she’s in lust but all the time. What would that be like? To give her all her firsts and watch her enjoy them. To be her husband, not just in name, but in truth.
I’ve spent my whole life fighting. I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to be with her.
It’s impossible, but I still want it. Even though it hurts like my insides are getting shredded. It kills me, this wanting something I’ll never have, but if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s taking the pain.
The music swells, the beat drops, and suddenly, Bella is in front of me, gazing up at me with longing.
It’s only lust, but I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever I can get. I gather her hair back, noting the sweat on her brow. She’s hot and horny from dancing. The room is getting steamy from all the bodies in here, and many of the dancers have gone from grinding on each other to actively fucking. It smells like sex.
I cup Bella’s pussy over her skirt. I can feel her heat through the fabric. “You wet for me, little bride?” Her eyes go black.
I grip the collar of her shirt and rip it down the front. She helps me shed the pieces. The harness pushes her breasts up and leaves her nipple free for me to torment. I’m the only one who gets to see them, so I pull out the nipple clamps I have in my pocket, waiting for this moment. I tease her nipples and clamp them. She hisses in pain and curls into me. My cock throbs, and I grit my teeth to get my lust under control. If we don’t get upstairs soon, I’m going to take her right here on the floor.
No, go slow. Make it good for her.
I swing her up into my arms and walk us out of the main room, up a staircase to the private rooms. Several of them are taken, their doors opaque or backlit in a way that allows anyone to see the activities inside. I reserved one for us near the middle, where we can look down on the dance floor. I switch on the light, adjusting it until we’re bathed in a light pink glow. I choose a setting that makes sure the door is lit in a way that lets people know someone’s in here, but won’t let them see inside. I’m not giving the voyeurs a show. Not yet.
I set Bella down. She hums to herself, laying a hand on my chest and petting me through my shirt. I grit my teeth again. I want her touch, but my nerve endings are coming awake after a long time dormant. The slightest brush of her hand is overwhelming. At the same time, the sensitivity reminds me that I’ve spent my adult life being numb to both pain and pleasure. Does that mean I’m doomed to forever feel dead inside? I hate that.