Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22327 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
“You’re mine,” I tell her with a growl from deep in my chest. I don’t know where this animalistic possession comes from, but I can’t keep it under control. “No one is taking you from me.”
“Never,” she breathes as she cups my face. “I’m never going anywhere. I’m yours.”
I stare into her eyes, and I can see she understands. I need her to soothe the beast inside me, to never leave me and always be mine. Breeding her is going to bind her to me in every way possible and make those words come true.
“Good girl,” I say as I kiss her softly. “My perfect wife.”
I feel her pussy clench around me as I thrust in deep, and then she comes apart in my arms. This time her climax is a full-body experience, and she clings to me like I’m her only connection to the earth.
My cock swells at her pleasure, and then my warm release is pumping into her waiting womb. There’s so much cum it leaks out between us where we’re joined, but there’s plenty more where that came from. The sight of it is so powerful I’m dizzy, like I took a drug.
I smile against her lips as we catch our breath, but this is only the beginning of what she’s going to take tonight. Now that I’ve had her once, there won’t be any stopping me.
Chapter 11
Jema
The garden is where I spend a lot of my time. You’d think living in a home this massive there are always things to do, but there aren’t. Salvador said I was a stay-at-home wife. I didn’t know that was a thing, but I was down to try it out. Turns out being a kept woman is boring. That’s when he’d suggested the library and gardens.
Since then that’s how I’ve been spending my time when Salvador isn’t home. When my husband is home, I turn into a clinger. Thankfully he doesn’t mind. If anything, he encourages it, but then when he has work, I get lonely.
I have no memory of friends, but I suppose I could ask Salvador tonight. Nothing has come back to me, including if I had gardening skills. I’ve fully lost my past, but at least I still know how to read. The doctor told me to give it time and that the brain is tricky. He keeps telling me that my brain does what it believes is best to protect me.
If that’s the case, what is my brain protecting me from? Is it that bad? I was told I fell and hit the back of my head and that’s all there was to it. As time passes, my mind can’t help but wander into the unknown, but if I focus on it too long, I get a terrible headache.
The unsolved mystery is sometimes all I can think about. What if I fell because I ran when I caught my husband cheating or I saw something I shouldn't have? I’m pretty sure this is pure boredom that’s coming up with these outrageous possibilities.
It doesn’t help that I get the sense everyone around here is keeping a secret from me. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s a darkness that lingers in the air and often around my husband. I’m not scared of him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.
I bundle up all the fresh cut flowers from the garden and take them back up to the house. When I enter through the back patio, the kitchen is empty. That is a rarity around here. Normally, the staff is buzzing around and preparing food.
I step into the butler's pantry and place the flowers down next to the sink before seeing what vases I have to use. There are a million, but my favorite isn't here. I should go check on the other arrangements while I look for it and see if they need replenishing.
That's the plan until I step out of the pantry and glance at the basement door. That door is like a giant red button I’ve been told not to push. The mystery of it only makes me want to push it more. Deciding there’s no harm in testing to see if it's unlocked, I go over to it and grab the handle.
When it doesn’t budge, I puff out an annoyed breath before a thought hits me. I’m not sure what makes me do it, but I reach into my hair and pull out one of the pins I use to keep my long bangs out of my face when I’m gardening. On instinct, I drop to my knees and stick the pin in the lock. Within a few seconds, the lock pops, and the door swings open.
"Well, then," I say, laughing at myself as I stand up. Maybe I picked locks in my past because I'm shockingly good at it.