Touch of Hate Read Online J.L. Beck, Cassandra Hallman

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Forbidden, Mafia, Romance Tags Authors: ,
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Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
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Something close to rage ripples through me.

Nobody gets to see her this way. Only me.

Mine. The word blares inside my skull.

Months of following her, watching from afar, checking out her apartment when the guards Xander assigned are tailing her to and from class, is nothing compared to the thrill of holding her against me. Finally.

After all this time, she’s back in my arms where she belongs.

So much time has been wasted. Wanting, longing, and existing at the periphery of her life has left me hanging on the edge—never secure enough to back away, never quite so insane with need to fall over into the abyss of madness in the absence of her. I’ve kept myself sane for two years by catching little bits of her whenever possible.

The scent of her pillow. A pair of underwear swiped from her dresser.

The sight of her walking across campus while I watch from a distance. The pleasure of hearing her light tinkling laughter when she’s with Tessa, but that’s it. Otherwise, when she’s alone, there is no laughter. And no other friends that I’m aware of.

No men, either. That’s for the best, for many reasons.

I wouldn’t want to have to kill some dumb bastard for having the audacity to come anywhere near her when she belongs to me and always will.

She knows she’s mine, too.

Why else would she have saved herself for me all this time? Two years since that night in her bedroom, and she’s gone without the touch of a man ever since. You know why? Because no other man will ever compare to what I’ve given her, so why bother trying.

Scarlet. My angel.

Clearly, she needs to be reminded of what happens when she lets her guard down. She was stumbling through the crowd, lost, like a fragile rose about to be crushed in an unforgiving fist.

I had no choice but to react. To save her from herself, which at the time meant saving her from the situation she put herself in. Years of yearning for the feel of her skin, her petite body, left me helpless against the impulse to take hold of her.

And the desire that exploded in me when I did. It was indescribable.

Here she is. So close to me, with nowhere to go. She’d have better luck breaking through a brick wall than pushing her way past me.

I’m not losing her now. Not when she feels so fucking good pressed against my chest, nestled into the spot where she belongs, her blond halo reaching my chest. Fuck me, she smells so good—even with this stupid mask on, I can smell her perfume, her shampoo, her skin.

Lavender. Clean. Calming.

It’s not enough. I know how good she smells elsewhere. The scent has been imprinted on my mind for two years, and nothing has ever come close to the effect it has on me. The way it makes the constant noise in my head go silent. It’s the only thing that does.

I suppose that’s what I’m needy for now. More than release from the agony of being unable to touch, kiss, and taste.

She’s my peace. My solace. I’ve gone too long without her.

I lean in, pressing her into the corner, my hands on her arms. I’m crowding her, pushing her past her limits. I know this, but I can’t help myself. It’s like I have no control; my only goal is to satisfy the need inside me.

It’s selfish and fucked up, but I’ve waited so long for her. It’s all that’s kept me going in those moments of agony.

I’m a split second from grinding my aching dick against her warm body. From giving in to two years of pent-up need when a whisper of a noise meets my ears.

“I…I… I’m…scared.”

I barely hear it over the insanely loud music threatening to burst my eardrums. Reading her lips is all that solidifies the soft sound into something real.

She’s scared. I’m scaring her. It’s the last thing I want, especially after being away for so long.

Still, what kind of man does that make me? To know that I’m turned on, even while she is afraid. That, had I not heard her speak, I would’ve pushed forward? My grip loosens before I make the conscious decision to do it.

How did I not see the terror on her face? The way she’s trembling, too. Her short, shallow breaths. Did I frighten her this badly? Much more of this, and she’ll hyperventilate.

The impulse to tear off the mask and show her she has nothing to fear is almost as tempting as the idea of fucking her here and now. Nobody would even notice; they’re too busy drinking and partying to pay attention to a couple in the corner. Hell, I doubt we’d be the only people engaged in such an activity.

No, dammit. That’s not what she deserves. I’m not going to take her this way, no matter how my body aches for her. I need my fix. I need her.


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