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)
She yelps, the sound coming out with a fractured moan. Her eyes are half open, dripping in yellow.
Gold.
“Please, Kane…please fuck me.”
My rhythm increases, pounding her in deep as if my cock were inside her. As if I were claiming her again.
Her pussy stretches around me and I circle her clit with my thumb.
She soon clamps around me, her breath hitching as she throws her head back.
“That’s it. Come for me, baby.”
As she jerks, I release her breast, reach into my pants, and free my cock. My fingers fuck her cunt while my left hand jerks my own heavy cock.
Up and down in a rough, frenzied movement.
Precum glistens from the tip and the veins bulge with need.
This isn’t about my pleasure. This is a punishment for losing control and wanting her.
Again.
“Say my name,” I strain as I strangle my cock.
“Kane…” She glances down at where I’m twisting and jerking, her lips parting, and she swallows thickly. “Please fuck me.”
“Jesus. Fuck.” I pull my fingers from inside her, shove the jersey up, and then snap open her bra.
I groan as my cum decorates her tits, covering her hard nipples and dripping down to her belly button.
She watches me the entire time, her mouth open, her face red.
I gather my cum from her stomach and place my coated fingers in front of her mouth. “Suck them clean.”
Dahlia slips my fingers inside and sucks on them, her wet tongue licking me softly.
While looking at me with those glittering yellow eyes.
Soon enough, her lids lower and she falls asleep with a soft sigh.
With my fingers in her mouth and my fucking sanity in her hands.
Every time I touch her, I lose all sense of reality and myself.
For a moment, just a moment in time, I forget who I am, what I exist for, and what I aim to do.
For just that moment, it’s only her.
And I’m not sure if it can be fixed at this point.
Or whether or not I’m willing to do so.
16
DAHLIA
The morning comes with a strange sense of peace.
And a headache.
A sore throat, too.
I blink my eyes open a couple of times and a smooth ceiling with painted cherry blossoms materializes before me. The stunning 3D details are so well illustrated, I feel as if I’ve been transported into a fairy tale.
Slowly, the rest of the room comes into view and I sit up in the massive bed, holding the black sheet to my chest.
The first thing that hits me is the cold.
Not the icy kind that seeps into my bones, but the kind that creeps into the air, that wraps around me even under the covers. It’s everywhere—spreading from the walls, the floor, and the very space around me.
Kane’s space.
It smells like him. Woodsmoke and leather.
The room is massive, but it feels suffocating. Aside from the cherry blossom ceiling, everything else is devoid of warmth. Dark gray walls swallow the light whole.
Clean lines, minimalistic, with everything perfectly in place. There are no personal touches, no photos, and only a few hockey trophies opposite me.
There’s nothing that says someone lives or breathes here. It’s more like a carefully constructed illusion of control.
I drag my gaze over to the desk in the corner. Stark. Empty. Just like the man who owns it. There’s no clutter, no evidence of life. It’s pristine, as if everything in this room is a testament to how he keeps his world—perfectly ordered.
The only thing that stands out is the window—floor-to-ceiling, overlooking the town that seems to stretch on beyond the horizon. The morning light filters in, but it’s muted, dull, as if even the sun can’t warm this space. Outside, the town buzzes with life, but inside, everything is unnervingly still.
I shift under the sheets, my body aching, my mind trying to piece together how I got here.
The memories filter in like an old grainy movie.
The drugging. The kidnapping. The masked men.
And then…
Kane.
“Oh God.” I cup my mouth, my eyes widening.
Please tell me I didn’t beg Kane to touch me.
Fuck me.
And he didn’t.
He only fingered me and came all over me, but he didn’t fuck me.
Why the hell am I disappointed?
I wish the earth could swallow me alive and spare me the embarrassment.
My eyes land on a change of clothes on the foot of the bed, and I assume that means I can use his shower.
After a few seconds of internally kicking myself, I walk into the sleek bathroom.
I remove the jersey and my underwear, then pause at the view of his dried cum on my stomach. He really loves leaving his mark all over me like an animal.
I should feel mad or something, but I’m more enraged by how I acted.
The elegant shower has so many settings, it takes me a few minutes to figure it out.
After I finish, I towel-dry my hair and put on his Vipers hoodie and sweatpants. I have to roll the waistband a couple of times and tie the drawstring so they’ll remain in place.