Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
He’s dressed in gray coveralls, wearing a Michael Myers mask that obscures half of his face. The rest is covered by white paint that extends all the way down his neck.
It throws me off my game for a minute, but I find myself secretly hoping it’s him because it’s weirdly hot.
“Venator?” I whisper.
“Praeda.” His dark voice echoes off the walls, amplified by the space.
I think he adjusted the settings on his modulator because he sounds more terrifying tonight. It sparks a rush of adrenaline as my hairs stand on end, heart pounding in my chest.
Half of me is tempted to let him win here and now because it feels like it’s been forever since I’ve felt him. But the other half of me isn’t ready to give up without a fight.
We’re only in the first room, and he already has me trapped.
My gaze darts over his shoulder as I analyze the gap between him and the wall, wondering if I can squeeze myself through it if I run. I’m still trying to decide when he captures me around the waist and lifts me off the floor.
I scream and try to wriggle out of his grip, but he’s barely putting in any effort, and I still can’t escape him.
He lets out a low growl of pleasure as his rough words fill the space between us. “Keep screaming like that, and I’ll take it as an invitation to fuck you right here.”
A soft whimper leaves my throat as my legs clamp together, desperate to stave off the ache inside me.
He lifts me above him so I’m looking down at his face as my legs dangle uselessly beneath me.
A glance at our reflections highlights the striking contrast in our size. He’s an anchored wall of muscle, and I look like a doll in his arms—completely helpless to his power.
He catches me staring, and his painted lips tilt with a hint of a smile.
“Does that please you, praeda mea parva?” He lowers me to the ground, fisting my hair and wrenching my head back as his words brush against my ear. “You know what I’m capable of, and you’ve seen the lengths I’ll go to have you. I think you get off on it.”
A choked sound of approval catches in my throat, even as I try to deny it.
“I think you want to be the villain’s perfect little princess.” He buries his face in my neck, breathing me in. “The one he’d scorch the earth to protect.”
My chest compresses as his lips graze my beating pulse, admiring the evidence I can’t hide.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” he rasps. “There isn’t a line I wouldn’t cross if it meant I could keep you.”
A visible shudder passes through me, the possession in his words heating my blood. The air between us electrifies as he traces my collarbone with his mouth.
I melt for him, lips parting, nipples stabbing against my leotard as his teeth scrape over me.
That slow burn crawls up my neck as he lays claim to every inch of that fragile skin. When he reaches my jaw and bites down, my knees nearly buckle as a sting of pleasure consumes me.
“I’m going to fuck you so thoroughly tonight, you’ll feel me everywhere, and when I’m finished, I’ll own every hole on your body.”
I bite back a moan as he turns me in his arms, startling another gasp from me when he shoves me forward. I reach out instinctively, hands slapping against the mirror to catch myself. He grabs my hips and drags them back until I’m bent over and on display for him.
A palm grazes my bare thigh, and that’s when I notice how different it feels. Tonight, his hands are covered in black latex gloves.
A question surfaces about what he’s hiding beneath them, but it drifts away as my gaze slides over the mirrored walls. From this position, I can see our reflections from every angle, and it feels more intimate than our encounters have ever been. One or both of us are usually in the dark, but in this room, we may as well be under a spotlight.
His mask is designed to hide his gaze within two black sockets, but it exposes the lines of his jaw and neck beneath white paint. I watch the way his throat works as he slides his palm beneath my sheer skirt, and for the first time, I see how deeply that simple touch affects him.
It’s visceral, witnessing his control falter, even for a second. That fleeting span of time is enough to reveal a hunger so raw that he aches with it.
It’s hard to wrap my head around, because it doesn’t feel new. It feels…ancient.
I’ve been thinking about kissing you for a long time.
His words from the night we met come roaring back, unleashing a flood of emotion as I study him. Is there a reason he feels so familiar to me, or am I making a connection that isn’t there?