Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Do you want me to stop, Lilian?”
Now is my chance to end this. To stop this from going any further, but I can’t make myself say the words. Silence. Not a yes, but not a no, either. After a moment, and no response, his hand drifts lower again, moving with infuriating patience—down the curve of my waist, brushing over the swell of my hip. He’s giving me a chance, another second to consider saying no, and I don’t know why I haven’t yet.
Because you want this. Even if he isn’t Aries, you want to be touched, consumed.
My breath stutters, and I catch the edge of the bookcase behind me to stay upright.
“So fucking responsive. You’re already shaking,” he murmurs. “And all I’m doing is touching you.”
Lightning bolts of pleasure zip across my flesh as his fingers trail beneath the band of my leggings, slow, warm, deliberate. He’s not trying to steal anything. He’s asking in the way he touches—unspoken, undeniable. I’m answering without words because I’m too ashamed to admit I feel the pull.
“I feel you clenching,” he whispers, mouth brushing my temple. “Every part of you tenses like you want to run…but your hips still tip toward me, begging for pleasure.” I turn my face away, but he follows, lips grazing my jaw, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to kiss you,” he breathes. “You don’t get that yet.”
His hand moves lower, sinking between my thighs, and I jolt, but not with fear…no— what finds me instead is relief. I didn’t know how badly I needed the pressure until it was there.
Gently, he strokes me through the thin fabric of my panties, slow and steady, like he’s drawing it out on purpose. Every pass makes me more aware of how wet I already am. My entire body trembles, and it feels so good.
I want to tell him to stop, but I’ll lose my mind if he actually does.
Pressing closer, he pins my body against the bookcase, and I tilt my head back against the shelf and open up to him. This encourages him, and his fingers move a little faster, in tighter circles, building a heat that can’t be smothered.
A whimper escapes me, the sound humiliating and real. “Shhh, it’s okay. Don’t hide it. Don’t be ashamed,” he whispers. “I want to hear every little sound I pull from you. Every gasp. Every whimper.” I bite my lip hard, but the rhythm of his fingers is relentless. There’s no escaping the pleasure he’s pulling out of me. My entire body arches toward him, chasing the friction even as my brain screams at me to stop.
“Good girl,” he breathes. “Let yourself have it.”
The pressure crests, and my knees go weak—every nerve ending rubbed raw and exposed. The orgasm hits in slow waves, rolling through me like a tide I can’t fight. I moan against his shoulder, one hand clutching the edge of the shelf like it might hold me together, the other tightening in his shirt. He continues, his fingers stroking me gently, until I’m shaking and completely breathless. When he pulls back completely, the loss of his presence leaves my body aching and empty. With infinite gentleness, he brushes a strand of hair from my face again, and the look in his eyes carries a warning with it.
“Stay away from the warehouse. Pretend you never saw anything so I don’t have to escalate things, because I promise you this isn’t a game you’ll win.”
He pulls away, and I somehow remain standing, watching as he leaves the room. As I fall back down to reality, guilt claims me. Aries is locked in that cell, and I’m out here letting his kidnapper make me fucking come.
What is wrong with me?
I look down at myself. My shirt is wrinkled and my skin burning, while my entire body struggles to make sense of what just happened. My legs finally buckle, and I sink to the soft carpet, the firelight casting shadows of my shame around the room.
Lilian
Ican still feel Arson’s fingers ghosting against my flesh a reminder of his brutality.
I know I should be angry at his behavior, even angry with myself for enjoying his cruel touch the way I did, but the reality is, both of us should be directing our anger elsewhere.
At the real culprits.
Which is why the second I’m awake in the morning, I storm through Hayes mansion with purpose, past the housekeeper’s concerned looks, heading straight for my mother’s private sitting room. As expected, she’s there—perched on her favorite settee, tablet balanced on her knee. A hot cup of tea sits beside her. I take the chair opposite her.
She only ever uses this space to plan her next charity event or talk business, so it’s safe to assume that’s what she’s doing right now. Everything about her radiates careful control, from her expertly styled golden blond hair down to the Louboutin heels on her feet.