Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Planting a palm next to my face, he leans in. “I’m many things, but I’m not a fool.” His voice is brutally soft, his look dangerous. “Don’t ever make that mistake.”
An internal shiver runs through me.
“You can lie to Anton, but not to me. Never to me. Understand?” He emphasizes the order with a hard squeeze of my wrist. “Now, tell me again. Why are you willing to help us?”
I meet his eyes squarely, giving him a small portion of the truth. “I need money.”
“You want me to pay you?”
“Will you let me go back to my waitressing job?”
He laughs. “In your dreams.”
My gaze flits to the bed. “You’d rather I earn it in a different way?”
He curls the fingers of his free hand around my neck. “If I wanted a whore, I’d get one.”
“Explain to me how this is different.”
The look in his eyes turns cruel. “Whores deserve more respect than you. At least they’re honest about why they fuck.”
The jab drives deep, hurling me back into the past where a chorus of whore, whore, whore taunts me as the circle of men plant their boots in my stomach. Violently, I shove the mental image away and force myself back to the present that somehow, on a deeper level, hurts worse than the memory over which my mind has painted a big, red keep-out sign.
I want to hit Yan, hurt him. With my neck and one arm pinned against the wall, the best I can do is plant a fist in his side. He doesn’t even grunt. He taunts me with his eyes, mocking my smaller and weaker body as he holds me still. I try to kick, but he hooks a leg around my thigh. Silently, he laughs at me, challenging me to do my best, all so he can demonstrate his superior male strength.
I hate him.
I hate that he can restrain me with his hands and hurt me with his words.
I hate that despite it all, my body heats where his erection grows against my stomach.
I’m out of defenses. He took them all. I have nothing left but the dirtiest insult of all. Sucking in a deep breath, I spit in his face.
He flinches. Both of us freeze. There’s a moment of shock in his unmovable demeanor, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, his gaze turning into pure ice.
Fuck. I regretted it the moment I did it, but it’s too late to take it back.
Letting go of my neck, he slowly wipes the back of his hand over his face. The promise of retribution in his expression is unmistakable. I utter a shriek when he grabs my face in his big hand, digging his fingers into my cheeks. Before I can make another sound, he crashes his mouth into mine. The kiss is hard and punishing. He doesn’t spare me, not even when I taste blood on my tongue. He swallows my breaths, kissing me so viciously my jaw aches.
Something inside me gives, and the helpless anger transforms into lust. I channel all the emotional pain into desire. His roughness ignites a fire that burns up my legs and gathers in my core. It should frighten me. It should repulse me. Instead, I moan in agreement when he yanks my arms up and pulls the T-shirt over my head. I reach for the buttons of his shirt, but he swats my hands away, lifting them back up over my head. He pops the button of my jeans, pulls down the zipper, and shoves them over my hips. Grabbing my waist, he spins us around. My feet leave the ground as he flings me through the air. I land with a thump in the middle of the bed. He strips as he advances—shirt, shoes, pants, briefs, and socks. His erection is big, proud, angry.
“Stay,” he growls when I instinctively start to scoot back.
I pause. He grabs my ankles and drags me to the edge of the bed, then yanks off my sneakers and socks. He almost rips the panties as he pulls them off with the jeans. Bending my knees, he positions his cock and drives the head through my folds. I gasp at the sudden invasion. I’m wet, but he’s too big.
He’s impatient. He takes me with a few shallow strokes until my inner muscles relax. I push myself up on my elbows to watch. When my inner muscles turn softer around him, he drives home with a hard thrust. My arms give out. Swallowing a scream, I collapse onto my back.
Leaning over me, he whispers against my swollen lips, “Do you want this?”
Always the same question. Always the same answer.
He teases me with a steady rhythm, making it feel so good I almost lose my reason.
I grab his forearms, digging my nails into his skin. “Wait.”