Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I hate him.
He nips me with his lips and I jolt. His chuckle rumbles through me, and he licks my clit again, his tongue rough, forcing me back up again.
Even as I climb, I plot his murder. Gun? Knife? I want to throw him off a cliff. Yeah. That’s the plan. We’ll go hiking, perhaps to talk about the case, and I’ll just shove him right over.
Then I forget all about committing a homicide, because those fingers and his way too hot and talented mouth find a rhythm that has me bucking against him.
Just as I’m about to explode, he pauses, releases me, and slaps my clit with the heel of his palm. Once and then again. The orgasm starts to take me, and his mouth sucks me in again, his tongue working me like a master.
I grab a pillow and shove it over my face, my body gyrating so hard the headboard protests. Molten lava pours through me, and I try to muffle my screams as the orgasm rips electricity through me with a fine edge of pleasure that can’t be real. It’s wild and dangerous, and it’s owning me.
Then the waves hit, and I’m drowning in them, riding out the storm.
With a pathetic whimper I hope he doesn’t hear, I come down, throwing the pillow off my face. I’m sweaty and trembling, and he’s still between my legs. I fight the urge to slap his head, because I can’t take another hit to my clit.
With a pleased murmur, he kisses my clit and then looks up. His gaze is raw and intent. All male. With a promise in there, or maybe a threat. “Say thank you, Rosalie.”
I gulp. Not a bit of me wants to give in. Yet his teeth are right there, as is his hand. “Thank you,” I say weakly.
He kisses my bare mound again and then stands.
Finally, I clap my thighs together and push away from the bed, standing on very shaky legs. “That will never happen again.”
His smile lacks humor. “Watch yourself.”
I take a step back. “I’m not joking. You do that again, even think of it, and I’ll have you arrested.” Yet the orgasm had been spectacular. The best. Ever. For sure.
He stands there just in boxers, his ripped and cut body proudly bearing scars. So many. His thick black hair has fallen over his forehead, and the angles in his face are sharper than any blade. His aroused and apparently huge cock is obvious in the boxers. “You liked it. I heard you scream.”
“Did not.” I lie.
His arm snakes out to tumble us back onto the bed, and he grips my chin with his thumb and forefinger as he partially covers me with his big body. “Say you liked it.”
I blink and parts of me quiver. Yeah. Those parts. “No.” I stare up at his burning black eyes. How am I back under him on the bed? Why hadn’t I run to the damn bathroom?
“Say it.”
My throat dries up. “No.” My voice wobbles a little and softens as my heart rate kicks into a higher gear. Even my skin feels sensitized. I need to get away from him.
His gaze doesn’t soften. Not a bit. “I’m not that guy, Peaflower.”
I try and fail to swallow, trapped in place. “Wh-what guy?”
“The one who’ll see your vulnerability and protect it.” His finger scrapes roughly across my lips, and somehow, those black eyes darken even more. Deepen. “Give me an inch, and I’ll swallow all of you.” His voice is guttural. “Now say it.”
Feminine instinct slides through me. “Fine. I liked it.” When he doesn’t even twitch, I sigh. “A little. Not a lot. Now get off me before I scream.”
He ducks his head and scrapes his whiskers on my delicate cheek. “You’ll be screaming soon enough. My name, that is.” With one smooth motion, he releases me and rolls off the bed, landing gracefully on his feet. “Baby, I’m going to fuck you hard next time, and you’ll feel me forever. I gave you the truth in the shitty prison, and you made your choice. Now you’re mine, Rosalie. In every way that I want you.”
My lungs stutter. The muscles across his bare back, covered in scars, shift easily as he prowls to reach for his shirt tossed carelessly over my pink velvet chair next to a bag showing the top of a sketchpad? “You bought a sketchpad?”
He squares his shoulders. “Yep. I like to draw.”
That’s intriguing. Shouldn’t be but is.
Shaking myself out of it, I roll to the side and flee to my bathroom, shutting the door and locking it. Only when I lean back against the worn wood, my heart thundering, do I hear his soft chuckle from the other room.
The low tenor sounds sadistic.
TEN
Alexei
The fact that she thinks a locked door will keep her safe from me is adorable. Last night, I barely slept, unaccustomed to actual silence and a soft bed. Silence doesn’t exist in prison. On the rare nights when nobody talked to themselves or yelled in maniacal fits, snores and sleepy grunts still filled the air. I’m used to remaining alert at all times and, apparently, it’s going to take time to dream again.