Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“That’s right,” he says in my ear as I go faster. “I want to see you take me. Every inch of me. Think about me filling your tight, wet pussy. Think about how much you hate me, Olivia. Think about how badly you want to fuck me too. Let it all go, my wife, my dirty fucking girl. Let yourself go.”
And I obey him. I move faster, so soaking wet he slips up and down like it’s nothing. I ride the length of him and moan as he thrusts with my rhythm, and we’re fucking together, moving as one. He slaps my ass hard, raw, rough. I’ll have bruises in the morning and I like it. I want to see them in the mirror, little reminders that he’s claimed me. I bite his shoulder, dig my fingers into the hard muscles of his back, and I want to taste every inch of him. He burns and glows between my legs, each stroke a new burst of pleasure, each movement another level of heaven I didn’t know existed. He bites my lip, pulls my hair, and I say his name, I pant it, I beg it.
“You’re mine,” he growls. “You’re my wife, my Olivia. Take my cock, you filthy girl, and beg me to let you come.”
“Casso, you bastard,” I groan. “Casso, you asshole, you piece of shit, you monster. I hate you.”
He slaps my ass for that and shoves me off him. I gasp as he spreads my legs and plunges himself inside of me again, pinning me down, his body on top of mine.
“I hate you too, Olivia,” he grunts, biting my lip, but he doesn’t say it like he hates me, not at all. “I hate fucking your tight, soaking cunt. I hate making you moan and sweat and writhe. I hate watching you come and I hate tasting you. I hate dominating you, making you please me, making you suck my cock and swallow my cum. I hate your perfect ass, your beautiful breasts, your curves, your lips. I hate every inch of you.”
He palms my breasts then pins my hands above my head, fucking me hard, and I almost believe him, I nearly believe he hates me as much as I hate him, and that only fuels the both of us. I move my hips faster and faster, grinding into him as he rips my pussy to pieces and I’m in ecstasy, I’m overflowing with too much passion, I’m ready to explode and this bastard won’t let me.
“Casso,” I moan, I whimper, I plead. “I want to come so badly. I need you to let me come, please.” I’ll say whatever he wants, just release me, god, I need it.
He bites my shoulder. “Come for me, Olivia. Come for me now, and when you’re done, I’m going to fill you to the brim. Do you understand?”
“Oh, god, yes,” I groan, and there are no more words. There’s only motion: Casso inside of me, my hips rolling along his, my clit and pussy bright with so much pleasure it’s overwhelming, and soon it builds to a peak, and it breaks over me, the crest of a wave rolling over, an explosion deep inside of my spine.
I come in a fury and a lightning strike, I come like the sky split in half by a thundercloud, I come like there’s no containing my body anymore. He moans, grunting, fucking me through it, and just when I think there can’t be more, he adjusts himself, fucks me faster, and I reach a second blinding orgasm as he comes with me this time, filling me up to the brim.
My vision goes hazy, nearly blacking out, and when it’s finally done, my ears are ringing and I stare at him, panting and sweating, at his beautiful muscles, my husband. I kiss him slow and he holds me, arms wrapped around my body, eyes roaming my skin. I feel self-conscious, but he’s looking at me like I’m his goddess and he’s worshiping me.
“Nowhere to run to,” he whispers as he holds me against him, the pair of us cuddled up on the couch in front of the fire. “Not this time.”
“No,” I say, leaning my head against his chest. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat.
Chapter 17
Casso
“This wasn’t easy to get,” Fynn says, parking his truck outside of a quiet house in the Phoenix suburbs. It’s a burnt sienna rancher with solar panels on the roof and a blue Prius in the driveway. Gravel fills the flowerbeds and some grass grows, but not much. “Took me working day and night to track her down.”
“Who’d you have to bribe?”
“A dozen lawyers, at least.” Fynn taps the steering wheel, frowning. “Someone important didn’t want me finding her.”
“That someone would be Joyce Flowers.”