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)
Though he probably doesn’t know that I’m also owning a part of him as well.
A part no one else has seen.
“Fuck!” He wrenches his lips from mine and releases my throat as he pushes me down on all fours on the grass.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He grabs my hips, pulling my ass up as he drives into me with unveiled anger.
I love it when he loses control because of me.
He’s cursing, shedding his outer layers one at a time.
Because of me.
So even though I’m fully spent, I lean my head on my hands, latch onto the earth, and let him fuck me like a beast.
Every delicious, punishable stroke nearly sends me over the edge, and I can’t believe my drained insides are thinking of another orgasm.
I must really, really like it rough.
Kane’s chest covers my back, his hand wraps around my hair, and I feel his teeth and lips, sucking and biting along my shoulders, my spine—marking me everywhere.
It hurts so good.
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he snaps near my ear, his lips grazing the shell.
“Kane…”
“Don’t fucking moan my name, Dahlia.”
“Kane…Kane…” I moan louder, throatier, as the orgasm rips through me. “Come with me…please…”
“Fucking fuck!”
“I’m on birth control…come inside me.”
“Jesus fuck.” Kane pulls out and I feel his cum coating my ass and back, the sting of the hot liquid against the handprints he left on my ass cheeks pales in comparison to the sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach.
Why am I disappointed he didn’t come inside me?
Kane collapses on top of me, crushing me against the ground. “I fucking hate you.”
“I hate you, too, asshole.” I mutter, losing all my fight.
I think he’ll kill me with his weight.
What a way to die.
Being crushed to death after the best sex of my life.
Kane shifts and I think he’ll release me, but he pulls me in one swift movement so that I’m lying on top of him, my back to his chest, my head on his shoulder. My legs are trapped between his, his half-erect cock nudging against my ass.
I’m a mess, covered in cum, sweat, and even tears from the intensity that is Kane Davenport. I don’t even want to think about the state of my makeup.
But Kane still wraps one arm around my breasts and the other across my hip and pussy.
I’m so sensitive, I jerk at the merest contact. My nipples poke against his hand and I don’t like this whole scene.
It’s vulnerable and I don’t do vulnerable.
Which is laughable, really. I can handle being chased and dicked down in the middle of nowhere, but being held raises my alarms as if I’ve been doused in icy water.
I wiggle and try to turn around.
“Stop moving.” His rough voice filters into my ears like a curse.
“I’m uncomfortable.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Stop trying to turn around. Stop messing everything the fuck up. Just stop.”
I turn my face away. “I hate you, asshole.”
His hand wraps around my throat and he angles my head up so that he speaks against my lips. “I fucking hate you, too, Dahlia.”
And then he kisses me senseless.
He kisses me until I think I’ll pass out.
He kisses me until I think he’ll never stop kissing me.
19
KANE
Breathe.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Relax.
Lean into the pain.
My wrists burn where the chains cut into them, my arms stretched tight above me, my own weight pulling at my shoulders.
With every involuntary tremor that runs through my body, iron digs into my flesh.
The basement I’m hanging in swallows me whole, the cold biting into my skin. The stone walls are damp, reeking of mildew and the heavy smell of rusted metal.
As for the reason why I’m here—again—it’s simple.
Tonight, we lost our away game.
The Vipers lost a clean winning streak. Against the Stanton fucking Wolves.
To say the team’s morale is in the absolute gutter would be an understatement.
This was due to a culmination of unfortunate facts.
One, I wasn’t focused, and while my body existed on the rink, my mental presence suffered greatly.
The immaculate discipline I’ve spent over fifteen years honing to perfection has chipped at the edges, small cracks appearing on the foundation.
Two, perhaps it was the lack of my assertive leadership, but the rest of the team also spiraled, struggling to hold the Wolves—especially their captain—at bay.
Osborn toyed with the team spirit and paid extra attention to Preston, checking and even falling on top of him until our left wing could barely breathe. Like a man possessed, Osborn made Preston a target and kept relentlessly going at him as if my friend was the only Vipers player on the rink. And that, in retrospect, made Jude pick more fights than usual—he’s been notoriously protective of Preston since we were kids.
Three, Preston’s usual cold-bloodedness was nowhere to be seen. He held out for the first period but eventually fell for the skirmishes and whatever Osborn whispered to him every time he knocked him down. In the third period, Preston cracked and sent Osborn flying against the boards, which shattered to pieces.