Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Since the time I first fucked her, I’ve been doing it every day. Sneaking into her house—or kind of walking in, really—waiting for her to come home so I can snatch and fuck her against the door like a feral animal.
And Violet loves that. She’s even started wearing sexy lingerie beneath her clothes for the daily fucking. Her favorite type of sex is when I wake her up with my mouth, fingers, or cock.
She truly loves somnophilia, my Violet, getting so wet and noisy and then coming for such a long time.
She doesn’t tell me directly, but she writes her thoughts in her journal that she knows fully well I read.
I loved last night so much. Not only was the sex so intense and amazing, but also waking up with his mouth on my pussy made me even more turned on. Next time, I want to be woken up with penetration. I know, I know. Something’s wrong with me.
He listened. I want more, but I can’t say it out loud, so I’m writing about it here.
I think I’m having too much mind-blowing sex lately. Is this normal?
It was a form of communication, I suppose. Even though I’d rather she ask for what she wants directly, but we’ll get there.
Eventually.
I still don’t know what there is or what the fuck we’re even doing, but I refuse the very idea of not spending my nights in the penthouse, slipping into Violet’s bed like a degenerate stalker and fucking her brains out.
It should be disturbing, the reason I even came into her life, but I couldn’t care less.
Even as I’m playing right now, I lift my head and look at where she’s standing.
Our eyes meet, and she pauses in the middle of whispering something to Dahlia.
She’s in the front row, across from me, with only the glass separating us, and I can see a blush creeping up her neck and onto her face.
Fuck.
God fucking dammit.
Now, I can’t stop picturing the red marks I left on her ass last night as I fucked her from behind or the throat hickeys she’s covering with a turtleneck beneath the sweatshirt.
Violet bites her lower lip, and I’m hit with memories of my teeth sinking into those lips as I fucked and spanked her and made her scream—
Something hard slams into me, and I’m flattened against the boards.
A collective gasp echoes through the crowd, and Violet brings both hands to her mouth as I straighten and consider smashing the motherfucker who cut off my thoughts.
But then again, I decided not to make another trip to the box tonight.
I do check him for the rest of the game, cleanly but violently. I target the piece of shit so much, he starts to avoid me.
Good.
Next time, he’ll learn not to fucking touch me.
We ended up winning after flipping the game’s score in our favor.
The crowd’s cheers of excitement pierce through my skin, yet all I can look for is Violet.
But she’s already being dragged toward the exit by Dahlia.
She pauses for a bit, staring behind her, and when her eyes meet mine, her lips twitch in a small smile, and she lifts a thumb up.
And then she’s gone, mingling with the crowd.
For a long time after she’s out of sight, I’m standing in the middle of the rink, gripping my stick so tight, I’m surprised it doesn’t snap.
What the fuck?
Why is my heart beating so loudly that I feel like I need medical intervention?
It can’t be because Violet smiled at me and gave me a thumbs-up, right?
No.
It must be the high of the game. It has to be.
I’m shoved by Preston, and I nearly lose my balance as he headlocks me. “You were fucking phenomenal, big man. But only right after me, because I’m obviously the motherfucking best.”
“Phenomenal game.” Kane fist-bumps me.
“Callahan!” Coach Slater shouts at me.
He’s a veteran of the game, born and bred in Graystone Ridge. He was one of the hotshot players who told me about my innate talent, but he also truly and irrevocably hates my penchant for violence. But, mostly, he despises my wasted potential and my time spent in the penalty box.
“From now on, that’s exactly how you play!” he tells me, giving me a fatherly pat on my shoulder.
I’m soon swept away to the locker room with teammates who are celebrating and being extra noisy.
As soon as I walk out of the shower and start putting on some clothes, I slide up beside Kane, who’s already dressed and is stretching.
This guy finishes showering in a minute, I swear. But then again, Kane’s never liked displaying his scars or putting his unfortunate past on full display.
I throw a shirt over my head. “Is Dahlia coming to the club tonight?”
He lifts a brow as he presses on his leg. “Why?”
“For the celebration. She knows the regular place, no?”