Bleeding Hearts Read online A. Zavarelli (Bleeding Hearts #1-2)

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Billionaire, Dark, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Bleeding Hearts Series by A. Zavarelli
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Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
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Gone.

I groped around the bed for her nightgown and brought it to my face. It still smelled like her. Strawberries and sunshine. Christ.

Smoothing the silk material through my fingers, I recalled fondly the way it slid against the decadent curves of her body. Reminisced on the pleasant sound of threads giving way as I freed her creamy flesh from its gilded cage. The bite of leather against her skin and the way she came alive for me. Marking her with arrogant ownership. She was too lenient with me sometimes, and oh what a heady fucking feeling that was. I believed her when she said she loved me. And I also believed I could still have her once I’d gotten my way.

What a fucking prig.

Self-deprecation was not an attractive quality, but that’s what it’d come to. For a small while, I held an angel in the palm of my hand. Like one of those little dancers in the musical jewelry boxes. All I had to do was wind her up and watch her shine for me. Nobody else could do that. It was all for me. And now only the memories remained.

I slid the nightgown down and wrapped it around my cock, fisting myself through the silk.

Was that judgment I heard in your thoughts? Did you forget that I was a man? This is how we deal. We could be deep in the clutches of grief and still get a fucking hard on. Blame it on biology.

It didn’t mean I didn’t feel things. I felt plenty. I had Brighton to thank for that. She walked into my life and blew everything to smithereens. Talk about the best laid plans…

I envisioned her spread out over my desk, her ginger spiced locks spilling over her shoulders like a flaming halo. I curled and twisted those silky threads in my hands, tugging until two bright hazel orbs stared back at me. Often, I had trouble deciphering the exact color of her eyes. They changed so frequently depending on her moods. Sometimes they were liquid amber, warm and inviting. Other times, I’d find them tinged with blue or gray. There’d been times they shut me out, but she’d never gone cold. Brighton was never, ever cold.

Right now, they were burnished caramel. Hot and sweet and filled with naughty promises. Her lids were heavy like I’d drugged her into narcosis. She was high on me- I knew- because the same drug ravaged my own veins. Thick and potent it burned as I dragged my fingers down her spine and groped her heart shaped ass.

Pure perfection. My cock itched with the need to purge this agony from my system. It was too soon. Always too soon. I smacked Brighton’s pretty little ass cheek in reproof, enchanted by the tiny noise that tore from her throat. It was her fault I was in such distress. If she wasn’t so goddamn exquisite, I could make it last forever.

Rough hands slid around her front, her tits filling my palms with each stuttered breath she drew. My cock dragged in and out in a measured tempo so as not to plunge from the ledge just yet. Her snug pink pussy sucked me deeper in an invitation I could not refuse. Christ, she had such a pretty little pussy. If you didn’t agree that pussies could be pretty, it’s because you’d never seen hers. Brighton’s was the prettiest.

Fucks sake, I’d reverted to a boy in the schoolyard.

Back to the fantasy. Brighton was in my debt, and nothing short of proper chastisement would do. She’d made me wait. She alone had sentenced me to muddle through every insufferable day in her absence. Didn’t she know I couldn’t function without her? I wrapped my fingers around her throat and fucked her like a man possessed. If she’d forgotten how this worked, I’d be more than happy to remind her.

My eyes were nothing but vacuous pits of lust as I looked down upon her and shouted out my declarations of love and frustration. In the end, she’d cave recklessly to my every whim. We were simpatico, her and I. She loved to drip all over my cock while I tormented her. The dynamic of our connection couldn’t be recreated in the most intimate of sadomasochistic relationships. It was a perfect storm of events that catalyzed this bond.

From an outside perspective, my cruel and abhorrent behavior might appear nothing more than ire wrapped in thorns. At first, perhaps it was. But Brighton’s submission and thirsty demand for more forged something else. Devout worship for the creature who flirted with my darkest desires and begged them to come out and play. I was as much her servant as she was mine.

You’d probably assumed that my grief was to blame for my insanity. It wasn’t entirely true. It was Brighton. She made me fucking insane. Her beauty and absolute perfection dissolved any moral boundaries that may have existed within me. She hadn’t a clue that sometimes when I looked at her I could scarcely breathe. How my need for her outweighed everything else. It was the way she loved me in spite of it all that made me unable to walk away.


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