Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“These are from him, aren’t they?” Her voice is soft. “From Roman.”
“Yes.”
Her fingers trace one particularly brutal scar along my ribs. The touch is gentle, like she’s trying to heal something broken. “He hurt you.”
“He made me what I am.” The automatic response I’ve given myself for years.
“He hurt you,” she says again, fiercely. Her palm flattens against the scar, warm and gentle. “And you survived it. That’s what made you strong. Not him. You.”
Something in my chest cracks at her words. Hearing her separate my father’s actions from my strength shifts something fundamental in how I see myself.
I don’t have time to examine it. Not when she’s spread out beneath me in nothing but white cotton underwear.
I hook my fingers in the straps of her bra and slowly drag them down her shoulders. She shivers, goose bumps rising across her skin. The bra is simple, plain white cotton that makes her look vulnerable.
“Lift up,” I command.
She obeys without hesitation, arching her back. My fingers find the clasp and unhook it. The bra falls away, and I toss it aside.
Her breasts are perfect. Small and high. Her nipples are peaked and flushed dark pink. Her breathing changes, her chest rising and falling faster as I study her.
“Calder.” My name on her lips is desperate.
I cup her breasts, testing their weight. They’re warm and soft and perfect in my hands. I brush my thumbs across her nipples, and she arches into the contact.
“So responsive,” I murmur, pinching one nipple. Not hard enough to really hurt, but firm enough that she feels it. “Every touch, you react.”
I lower my head and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking hard. She cries out, her hands fisting in my hair. I work her with teeth and tongue, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp, then soothing the sting. The taste of her skin is intoxicating, so clean and sweet with just a hint of salt.
Her back arches, pushing more of her breast into my mouth. I suck harder, feeling her nipple tighten even more against my tongue. My teeth scrape across the sensitive flesh, and she shudders.
When I move to the other breast, she’s panting, her hips already seeking friction. I can feel her grinding against my thigh, desperate for relief. The cotton of her panties is damp against my leg, soaked through.
“Please,” she gasps. “Calder, please…”
“I know what you need.” I sit up and hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties. “But you’re going to have to beg for it.”
“I’m already begging.”
“That’s not begging.” I slide the panties down slowly, watching her face as I expose her. The cotton is soaked, darkened with her wetness. “That’s just asking. I want you desperate.”
I pull the panties free and toss them aside. Now she’s completely bare beneath me. Spread out on the quilt her mother made, legs slightly apart, vulnerable and trusting.
I’ve touched her before. Made her come on my fingers. Fucked her on that kitchen counter while she was drunk and scared. But this is different. This is her choosing me. Choosing this.
The sight of her hits me hard. Her skin is flushed pink from arousal, spreading from her cheeks down her throat to her chest. Between her legs, she’s pink and swollen, glistening. I can see everything. She’s never been seen like this sober. Never been this vulnerable by choice.
“Spread your legs wider.” The command comes out harsh.
She obeys, her thighs falling open carefully to avoid her brand that’s still sensitive.
“You’re so beautiful it hurts to look at you,” I say roughly, my hands tracing up her inner thighs. Her muscles quiver beneath my touch. “And you’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours.” Her voice trembles.
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Calder.”
I strip off my jeans and boxers. Her eyes go wide when she sees me fully hard. My cock is thick and heavy. She’s seen it before, felt it inside her, but this time, there’s no fear in her eyes. Just want.
I settle between her legs, pressing her thighs wider with my hands. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” She rocks her hips up. “All of you.”
“Be specific.” My hand slides between her legs, fingers dragging through her wetness. She’s soaking. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”
Her cheeks flush darker, but she holds my gaze. “I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me yours.”
“I’m still going to make you beg first.” I slide one finger inside her, feeling her tighten around me immediately. So tight. So perfect. Her inner walls grip my finger, hot and slick. “I’m going to make you so desperate you can’t think straight.”
I pump my finger slowly, watching her face. Her mouth falls open on a gasp, her eyes fluttering.
I add another finger, working her harder, stretching her. My thumb finds her clit and circles it with firm pressure.