Coerced Wife (New York Underworld #2) Read Online Charmaine Pauls

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: New York Underworld Series by Charmaine Pauls
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Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
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She makes an animal of me. I both love and hate it. I revel in the effect while abhorring my lack of control.

I spin her around and push her against the vanity. Our gazes lock in the reflection of the mirror, icy, crazed blue meeting honeyed, melting gold.

“Tell me no,” I bite out, pinning her between the vanity and my body, praying for control even as I feast my eyes on her naked tits and generous curves.

“Yes,” she says in a breathy voice.

I tighten my fingers on her flesh, kneading the softness between my hands with a force that will leave bruises. “What are you doing to me, woman?”

My question is the desperate cry of a man on the brink of losing his mind. His head. His life. All for a woman.

“What do you want to do to me?” she asks in a sultry tone.

I beg for fucking mercy. “Anya, please.”

“Yes,” she says again, rubbing her ass against my groin.

Fuck.

And I snap.

It only takes a second to get rid of my pajama bottoms. I step back and bring her with me. In the same movement, I push her lower body down and kick her feet apart.

My answer is the lustful call of an animal who wants to bite into her shoulder and rut her until she collapses beneath my weight. “I want your ass.”

“Then take it,” she says with a daring look over her shoulder.

I grind my molars until the crunch echoes in my skull. “It’s going to hurt.”

“I know.” Her gaze is level. “I like it when it hurts.”

Jesus.

I’m done for it. Finished. My resistance rips in two, the man I used to be cracking right down the middle. I’ve only ever been myself with her. I’ve never dared to show my depravity to another soul. It binds me to her, and while it’s wrong, it feels so fucking right.

My body shakes as I grab the first thing my hand falls on—a bottle of oil for preventing stretch marks. I squirt a generous amount on my palm and rub it over my cock. She watches in the mirror, licking her lips as if she wants my length down her throat and not in her ass.

“I’ll go slow,” I say, the promise more aimed at myself than at her.

I haven’t prepared her, haven’t stretched her, but when I tease her dark hole with my thumb, she reaches behind her, fists my cock, and pushes the head against her asshole.

“You don’t have to go slow,” she says. “I can take it.”

“Fuck, Anya.”

“Have you done this before?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know what to do.” Pushing back, she says, “Take me. Do it now.”

Another sliver of control peels away as I punch my hips forward, breaching the tight ring of muscles with the crest of my cock.

A gasp tears from her throat.

I rub a palm over her back in a soothing caress. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Move,” she says, dragging in small pants of air. “Do it now, Sav.”

I inch forward slowly, taking her inch by inch. By the time her ass has swallowed my cock up to the balls, her arms where she’s bracing her palms on the counter are shaking.

Holding on to one hip, I slip the other hand between her legs and rub her clit. She cries out, her muscles softening a little around me.

“Move,” she says again, grinding against me.

“Does it hurt?”

A bead of sweat runs down her temple and plops on the marble. “Fuck, yes. Make me come.”

I take mercy on her, fucking her with a few quick thrusts to find my release quickly. When I empty myself in her ass, she comes with me, her inner muscles clenching so hard around my cock its painful. I’ve never come faster or harder in my life. Release has never left me legless and incapable of forming sentences.

I don’t stay longer inside her than necessary. I pull out but keep my hand between her thighs, making her ride out the aftershocks until I have to wrap an arm around her waist to prevent her from falling.

I press my forehead between her shoulder blades, catching my breath and finding much-needed composure before I kiss the top of her spine.

My apology is honest. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” she says, my brazen girl like a burning flame that’s already branded me and left its mark deep under my skin.

I step back and look down. My release runs down the crack of her ass and the back of her thighs.

Shower.

I’m only capable of following the clipped commands that my brain sends to my body. It’s purely instinct, routine the only thing that keeps me going.

I turn her around and lift her into my arms. In the shower, I wash her gently, worshipping every inch of her perfect body with kisses and soft petting.

When she’s clean and dry, I carry her back to bed, lie down, and pull her into my arms.


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