Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
So I couldn’t really perform my favorite hobby—running away.
Not when he hugged me like that. Talked to me like that.
Need to call my daddy and ask for tips on how to never grow soft and stupid, because really, Marcus won’t want me to stay.
Not if he knows I’m not safe for him.
That’s why I’m refusing to sleep—so he doesn’t touch me all of a sudden and I don’t accidentally fucking kill him.
But not sleeping isn’t a perfect solution, because I keep looking at the daisy and the dagger, and that doesn’t help the static flooding my brain.
All sorts of jumbled scenarios are flowing in, and the most prominent thought is that Marcus totally got that tattoo for a girl.
And it wasn’t his mom. Yes, there are a lot of plants and flowers in his house, but they’re mostly roses, so his mom prefers those. If he got it for her, it would be the generic rose, and he wouldn’t have put it in such an intimate place that can only be seen when he’s naked—or almost naked.
Who the fuck made such a huge impression on this unfeeling, inflexible, grudge-holding bastard that he tattooed her on him?
Sure, it could be some cool tattoo he thought of, but nah, nope. When I asked him, he had this disgustingly nostalgic look in his eyes before he buried it under lock and key and said it was a secret.
And he gave me a fucking ultimatum—knowing the meaning of my tattoo first. Something I’ll take to the grave, but honestly, I’m considering lying just so he’ll tell me.
Because I asked his ex-girlfriend Dallas—away from Kane, because he’s already suspecting something is up lately, and I don’t want to end up being questioned.
Anyway, I asked Destiny’s Child if she knows whether or not Marcus had a girlfriend he adored so dearly who could have loved daisies. I told her the reason I wanted to know is so that I can use her against him, of course. Defra said she’d never put the girl in danger even if she knew.
“Have you met Marcus?” She looked at me incredulously in class. “That guy is not capable of love.”
“Didn’t stop you from dating him.”
“A mistake I will never recover from. Do you know why I dumped him after only two weeks?”
“You came to your senses?”
“That and he tried to share me with his teammates.” Her lips snarled.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He said it was something about how he enjoys watching his fuck buddies being railed by others.”
I wonder if he shared the girl he got the fucking daisy tattoo for.
My fingers twitch and I picture a knife in my hands as I slash and stab and erase the fuck out of that tattoo until it’s all bloody and messy and unrecognizable—
Jesus Christ.
Why the hell am I letting those gory thoughts loose? And what is this…feeling? The damning need for possession, to chain him to me so he’ll never have a way out.
I’m the one who said this is just sex, but who the fuck was I kidding?
There’s no way in hell I’d allow myself to be used like a greedy, little slut if it were just sex. I also wouldn’t have let him touch me so intimately, hug me…
Fuck—I let him hug me.
It still feels odd, and my skin prickles, and sometimes it really hurts worse than any of his lashes, but he doesn’t like it when I keep a distance.
I think if I continue to do that, if I keep running away, he’ll just abandon me.
Like Mom.
I squirm, and the bruises on my ass and thighs burn like hell. Marcus did lather them with some ointment earlier, but they’re still deliciously painful.
With a muffled moan, I shift a bit so I can watch him closer. The slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw—they all look so proportionate.
A wild strand of hair falls on his forehead, and I gently push it away, leaving my hand there. It burns a bit, like every time I touch him, my body recoiling against the notion of being so close, but I can’t stay away.
Can’t stop.
Even if I feel like I’m being split open by my demons from the inside.
And despite their groaning and moaning and slashes of pain, I just don’t move, letting my fingers linger on his warm skin.
Have I ever been this fascinated with a girl I fucked?
The answer is hell no. Never laid in bed with them or touched them.
Now that I think about it, sex used to be a mindless release. A way for me to let go of tension, holding the same importance as killing and slashing.
But it was all temporary, something that lasted for the moment, then quietly vanished.
Yes, I loved fucking—the power, the tying up, the animalistic thrusts, but it was all so very…empty.
Sex with Marcus is a whole different beast, all too intense and overwhelming, and just…not empty.