Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
When I hear him coming closer, I turn away, flinching. “I didn’t want to. I didn’t.” I’m not sure why, but it matters he believes me. That someone believes me. I’ve been so alone, screaming into the void.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he whispers. His touch on my back is gentle, almost kind. Has it really been that long since I’ve felt kindness? All I want is to lean into it, soak it up. Like I’m dry earth soaking up rain after a long drought.
“I don’t know. I… I was ashamed. It’s embarrassing.”
And something else. He’s not going to like hearing it, but I’m past caring about that now. Lowering my hands, I turn to face him. I want him to look me in the eye. “You weren’t exactly kind. Actually, you were pretty fucking hateful. Was I supposed to know you would understand or even listen?”
“You’re right. I’m listening now.” He touches a hand to my shoulder, and damn, it feels so good. I don’t want it to. I want to hate him for hurting me. I want to hate him for making me feel so alone. But I’m also tired. And it’s been so long since someone touched me gently.
My eyes drift shut. My focus zeros in on the weight of his hand. The warmth. I’m so hard-up for comfort, I would even accept this.
Wait. No. Not after all the bullshit he’s put me through.
“Get your hand off me.” I fling it away, jumping to my feet, laughing bitterly at myself. I have to laugh for making it so damn easy for him.
He’s not laughing. “What’s your problem now? What do you want from me?”
“Funny you should ask, because I was just about to tell you.” Flinging an arm toward the window, I whisper, “Get the fuck out of here. Don’t come back.”
The look in his eyes shifts from playful to cold and hard. His arms shoot out like striking snakes, hands grasping my arms to pull me back to the bed. This time, he forces me onto my back and drapes himself over me, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
“You’re forgetting something.” His breath is so hot, unwanted, only I can’t turn my face away to avoid him. He’s too close, too overpowering. “You owe me.”
“I owe you shit!” I gasp while he starts touching me and making me forget why I told him to leave because oh, my God, it’s incredible. What he does to me. What he makes me want to do.
“Then you won’t mind me going to Emma’s room and telling her what you did to you dear dead fiancé?”
He’s sicker than I thought. So sick, it shocks me. “You’re going to force me? You’re that low?”
“That’s right. Insult me,” he urges, chuckling darkly while one hand palms my boob and squeezes.
Goddammit, why does that feel so good? “I hate you. You’re vile,” I whisper even as my hips lift and my back arches into his touch.
“But you still want me, little filly. What does that say about you?”
The worst part is, he’s right. No matter how much I fight, it’s not because I want to. Not really. Not in my body. Maybe in my heart, where I know he is nothing but self-serving, dark and cruel.
But it’s not my mind he’s touching when he works his hand under my pajama top to touch my bare skin. Goose bumps race over it, and I shiver, which only pisses me off more. It’s bad enough I’m weak for him, but I don’t have to show it so he can make fun of me.
I grit my teeth while he massages my boobs before flicking one nipple, the other, watching closely to see how I react. “Quit pretending,” he mutters while I struggle against my own body. “You want this. You want me, and I want you.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s more like it.” He flashes a wicked grin before hooking his fingers around the waistband of my shorts and making my pussy flood with heat and wetness that pools in my slit. Wrong, so wrong. I squeeze my eyes shut. The frustration makes me shake. The rage and the helplessness. It doesn’t even matter that he’s bigger, stronger. I would be helpless against him, either way.
He lets out a soft growl once I stop fighting and lie still so he can strip off my shorts and the thong underneath. This is what he wants? Then this is what he’s going to get, but I’ll be damned if it’s the way he wants it. I put up no fight, letting him wedge himself between my thighs, forcing them open wider to make room.
“What are you doing?” He sounds unsure now.
“What? Not as much fun this way? Because you want me fighting, don’t you?” I taunt while he runs his hands up my bare legs, pressing into my thighs. “Anything, so long as you can feel big and powerful. You’re boring.”