Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 75(@200wpm)___ 60(@250wpm)___ 50(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 75(@200wpm)___ 60(@250wpm)___ 50(@300wpm)
Axel isn’t abusing me. He isn’t being cruel. The man would die for me. He’d rip out his heart if I asked him to and present it to me like a diamond necklace. He degrades me because it’s something I love. It relaxes me; it allows me to live in the moment and get out of my head. It’s not like he’s asking me to lick up cum on a McDonald’s bathroom floor. It’s our home. A place cleaned twice a week and swept daily by Kian, a borderline neat freak.
Axel tugs at my hair, pushing me down toward the semen glistening on the dark cherry wood. “I’m as serious as a heart attack, Kitten. Stick out that pretty tongue and clean up your mess.”
My tongue darts out, connecting with the cold floor before the tip meets with the creamy texture. I pull it into my mouth. Scooping it up with my tongue, my eyes connect with his. I watch his eyes go wide and the tendons in his neck pop. I’m not sure if he’s angry or excited—maybe both. He’s on the verge of losing control, and that’s all I need to make licking cum off the floor one of the most erotic things I’ve ever done.
My scalp stings as Axel pulls me up by my hair, capturing my mouth with his. His lips taste like peppermint and berries, sweet and intense. He pulls back, his lips barely touching mine, and whispers low so only I can hear him. “Such a good girl, Sis. Such a good, sexy girl.”
Hands move through my hair as it’s pulled back and swept to one shoulder while lips trail soft kisses along my collarbone. “You’re so perfect, Rabbit.” My body shivers at Ronan’s rich, hypnotic voice. His fingers flutter like summer rain down my bare arms, causing the tiny hairs to stand at attention. “Go clean up, Rabbit. Soak in the tub and relax until dinner.”
My ears perk up at the idea of Ronan cooking dinner. Seeing Ronan in the kitchen is like watching Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel— pure magic. “Whatcha making?”
“Nothing too fancy tonight. Boeuf Bourguignon and Palmiers and chocolate for dessert.”
I feel like a child in a candy shop. “You made Palmiers? Those are my favorite.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle before his lips turn up into a seductive smirk. “I know.”
I turn in his arms, my eyes narrowing suspiciously. “How did you know that?”
Ronan pulls me to him, his warm breath tickling the shell of my ear as he whispers, “A magician doesn’t give away his secrets.” I yelp as he slaps my ass. “Now go get cleaned up.”
Clothes are laid out for me when I get out of the shower. I expect to see something decadent and sexy, but a sports bra and yoga pants are at the foot of the bed. Relief washes over me when I take in the garments. That’s one thing I love about my guys. They let me be me. You’d think they would force me to wear pretty gowns and high-heeled shoes, and they do, but when we’re at home, I’m in the lap of comfort. This luxury of being my authentic self and still being wanted is sexy. It’s easy to exude sex appeal when you’re done up to the nines. Perfect shoes, expensive dress, pristine makeup, and knock-out hair. But when I look like I’m having a movie night with my best friend and these guys still want to paw me like animals, I know I’m the most beautiful girl in the world.
Holding up the sports bra, I laugh. Six months ago, I’d never wear something like this unless it was under a loose sweater, but now I have no problem showing off my stomach. I know to some, the idea of doing it for men is scandalous, but I’m not doing it for them. They help me to realize I’m beautiful just the way I am.
Society constantly bombards us with images of how a woman should present, act, and dress. We see supermodels who starve themselves presented as role models for young girls. It’s not unusual for girls and women to get trapped in a cycle of madness about looking ideal.
It makes sense for me, who doesn’t fit a perfectly cultivated image of a lie, to feel a sense of dread about exposing my body. But everything the world tells me to be ashamed of, my three men show me I should be proud of. So no, I didn’t need a man to make me beautiful. I needed three men to show me the world had fed me poisonous lies my entire life.
Chapter
Four
Kian
Some men love tits. Some men love asses. I love Stella’s stomach. So does my hard dick as I watch her walking down the stairs. My hands ball into fists as I desperately hold onto my thin control for her. If I had my way, she’d be walking around naked, preferably bent over with my dick in her tight cunt, while my knife or belt leaves pretty marks all along her creamy flesh.