Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“Take off your skirt, sit on that chair, open your legs wide, and finger yourself,” he commands.
I should have felt a mix of hate, anger and shame, but infuriatingly, I feel unbelievably excited and turned on as I pull my skirt down, the fabric brushing my thighs. The silence is broken only by the sound of my own shallow breathing and the rustle of my skirt pooling on the floor.
“Do go on,” he approves, a wolfish grin appearing on his face.
My heart is pounding in my chest. I can feel his eyes on me, unrelenting, watching every movement I make. But what is worse is the heat pooling in my stomach. I hate the way my body betrays me even now. Even put to this unthinkable humiliation I can’t seem to stop my body from responding to him.
“Look at you,” he taunts. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?”
“No,” I snap, the word almost a growl. But the way my body shakes betrays me. I can feel the flush spreading across my skin, the tightening in my chest as I fight to maintain control.
“You can’t even lie properly,” he mutters, his mockery vanishing. “Take a seat and get on with the show, I haven’t got all night.”
I perch at the end of the chair and slowly open my legs.
“Damn! How wet your little cunt is. It’s dripping,” he notes interestedly.
I glare at him, but say nothing. What can I say? It is the truth. I am so aroused my sex is wet and throbbing wildly.
“Lean back,” he orders, “and raise your legs up in a V shape.”
I obey, exposing my pink flesh completely to him.
He draws in a sharp breath and his voice is harsh. “Masturbate. Play with yourself.”
My fingertips delicately brush my swollen sensitive clit then circle it. My movements are hesitant to start with, but they quickly become frantic as the tension inside me builds. I hate how easily he’s broken me down, how powerless I feel under his gaze. And yet, I can’t stop.
I shudder, unable to hold back the soft, involuntary moan that escapes my lips. It’s humiliating, the sound echoing in the suffocating silence of the room. My left fist clenches as I will myself to stay calm, but it’s no use. My body is no longer mine, consumed by something I can’t control.
“Now finger fuck yourself,” he commands. His voice seems far away and strange.
My fingers slide deep inside me. In, out. In, out. Relentless. It’s a show. For him. For money. Tears sting the backs of my eyes.
“That’s enough,” he says abruptly, his voice low and commanding. “Come over here. Crawl towards me.”
I freeze.
Crawl?
My mind is screaming at me to walk away from this degradation, to do anything but obey his sick command, but my body doesn’t want to stop. It can’t. It remembers too well the deep pleasures of being with him and it wants it now. And it won’t be denied. He owns my body. He always has. And he always will.
I get down on the ground, and on my hands and feet, I crawl towards him like an animal. The carpet is rough against my palms and there is a fire between my legs as I move myself closer and closer to him. As I reach the side of the bed he reaches down and hauls me effortlessly into the air and plops me on top of him. The sheets are cool against my heated skin. My soaking pussy is pressed onto his thigh and I have to resist the desire to rub myself against it.
He watches me intently, his expression unreadable, his mocking smirk gone. “Are you on birth control?”
I nod slowly.
“Good. We don’t deserve to be parents.”
I gasp with shock.
And he smiles silkily. “I think I’m going to really enjoy being married to you. Now fucking ride my cock.”
CHAPTER 11
EARL
She recoils at my deliberately cruel words.
But silently she raises herself and sits astride me. Her soft wet pussy squelches on my thigh and I feel how it throbs for my cock. So … she wants me with every fiber in her body, but she absolutely loathes wanting me. I see it in the way she glares at me, her clenched hands, her pert breasts rising and falling with sharp breaths. And I savor it. Her anger is my feast, feeding that dark, twisted part of me that thrives on knowing I’ve gotten under her skin. And hurt her.
And yet, something in me stirs, an old, buried instinct that flinches at treating her like this. It pricks at the edges of my resolve, threatening to soften me, but I shove it away quickly.
My eyes trail over her body, taking in every detail.
She was beautiful before—achingly so—but now, she’s something else entirely. Time has honed her into a vision so impossibly breathtaking, it’s almost painful. Her curves, her lips, the slight flush coloring her cheeks—I can’t stop looking, can’t stop remembering how utterly consumed I used to be by her.