Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Turbulent blue.
A color I’ve never seen in them before.
Worry mixed with fear.
I clutch his bare arm, my skin electrifying at the touch, but I still hold on to my courage as I let the blanket fall, then shift to my knees.
His grip loosens around my jaw, enough to allow me some movement, and I brush my lips against his, softly, tentatively.
They twitch. His jaw flexes, but he remains still, so still, I think he’s a statue. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I grab on to that courage, my breath escaping in a fractured rhythm.
This is the first time I’ve wanted something with all my broken parts. The first time I’m willing to compromise.
To even let go of the one thing that’s kept me going since Vi’s attack.
My pride.
“When we separated at the bridge, I regretted not kissing you.” My words are only interrupted by a flash of lightning and the pattering of rain. “I regretted not holding on to you one final time. I know you probably won’t forgive me, and that’s okay. You’re angry, so take it out on me. If you want me to run, I’ll run.”
“Shut up, Dahlia.”
“I’ll make it harder to catch me, I promise. Just one more time—”
“I said.” He pushes me back against the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight as he straddles me, his hand gripping my bathrobe’s belt. “Shut the fuck up.”
My heart trembles. And so does my entire body.
I arch my back, my fingers reaching for his shirt, but he’s already taken it off. It’s somewhere on the floor now, and all I can focus on are the hard lines of his muscles.
The proportionate cut planes of his chest and stomach, the dark ink that slips from his side to his abs, the snake’s head at his collarbone, the scars crisscrossing his chest.
He’s a sight to behold. An enigma caught between morbid ruthlessness and authoritative composure.
I place a trembling hand on a scar as if I can erase it, as if I can cast a spell and make all the pain disappear.
A sharp inhale expands his chest, inflating it against my hand. But he doesn’t remove it. Doesn’t scold me for daring to touch the sun.
It still burns, but that’s okay. I can handle him.
Kane undoes the belt of my robe in one ruthless movement, and it slips open, exposing my nakedness. My nipples are hard and perky; my breasts feel swollen.
All because of his gaze.
“Take it out on you,” he repeats, his voice tense, his chest heaving as he unzips his jeans, lifts himself, then removes and throws them and his boxer briefs on the floor to join his shirt.
“Yeah.” I lift my other hand to his face, but this time, he grabs it and slams it over my head on the pillow.
But he doesn’t hold my injured wrist and, instead, flattens his palm against mine.
As he leans down, his chest grazes my nipples, and I let out a small moan of need.
Of something much deeper than need.
“There are a lot of things to take out on you, wildflower, so what should we start with?” He wraps his hand around my throat, angles my head to the side, and bites on my earlobe. “Your lies?”
My heart jolts, a flux of both fear and pleasure rushing inside me. Kane sinks his teeth into my jaw, the crook of my neck, my shoulder, my collarbone. My nipples.
Everywhere.
I scream, trying to grab onto him.
“Your betrayal?”
He sweeps his tongue against my tortured nipple and I wiggle, welcoming the pleasurable feeling, but then he bites again. “Your lack of confidence in me?”
I arch my back, my lower stomach rubbing against his hard cock.
A stickiness trickles between my thighs, and I clench them together in search of some friction.
But he releases my hand and slaps my thighs apart, settling his massive weight between them as he continues to suck and bite my nipple.
Every lick of his tongue is a zap of pleasure to my throbbing pussy, and every bite is a reminder that this isn’t only about pleasure. It’s not even part of our twisted games.
It’s a punishment.
One I’m willing to take.
He bites a trail down to my stomach, nibbling and sucking on the soft skin until he reaches my pussy.
I throw my head back as his lips wrap around my clit, his tongue rolling and twisting, his teeth slightly nibbling.
Slick sweat covers my body as I writhe, and although the bathrobe is soft, it feels rough on my skin.
My fingers sink into his hair, pushing, clenching. His grip on my throat increases with his rhythm, making me tighten and grow slicker.
More turned on than I thought would ever be possible.
I’m going to come.
I’m going to come all over his mouth.
Just when the wave is about to overtake me, Kane lifts his head, his lips still smeared with my arousal as he releases my throat. “So tell me, Dahlia. Where should I start?”