Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
His hand landed on my other ass cheek hard and before I could even register the pain, his cock slammed into me, filling me to the hilt as a moan left my lips. He didn't ease me into it. He didn't tease. He didn't explore.
He fucked me.
Hard.
Rough.
Wild.
Each thrust threatened to send me fully up onto the desk until I turned my hands on the surface to grab the very edge of it, holding myself in place as I bit into the gag, worried my sounds would carry and not sure who was within earshot. His hand moved up to the back of my head, twisting into the strands and curling them around his hand as he yanked back. His cock slammed deep and I came on a choked cry, the shocks of desire coursing through every inch of my body.
"Fuck yeah," Byron growled, slamming hard through it, dragging it out. His free hand moved up, dragging the gag roughly out of my mouth when the waves started to subside. "Say it," he demanded as his thrusts got more uneven, as he got closer.
I didn't even have to think about it.
I knew what he needed to hear.
"I love you," I whimpered as he planted deep and filled me with his release.
"Fuck yeah you do," he said as his body moved over mine, biting into my shoulder from behind. "I love you too, babe."
Epilogue
Prue - 2 months
"I swear to fuck, babe, if you don't hurry up, I'm leaving your sweet ass here," Byron called from down the stairs in the foyer.
I was never late. As a rule, I was always on time or early. It was his own damn fault I was running late, the stubborn ass. He'd insisted I move in, proceeded to buy me a bunch of fancy dresses to wear to his casino and whatever other social obligations he had planned, then didn't relegate nearly enough of the generous walk-in closet to me.
We'd also went a round about the amount of space I needed in the drawers of the bathroom for female essentials and makeup.
I eventually won the bathroom argument.
But the closet one was ongoing.
Hence my being late because I had to drag every dress out of the far, dark corner of the closet where I couldn't even tell them apart, lay them out on the bed, then go back in to fish out the shoe boxes I had stocked haphazardly beside his perfectly displayed dress shoes in their specially designed shoe racks.
I had even suggested I use the closet in the guest room I used to live in. Which was, apparently, out of the question. I gleaned that from the adamant, "Fuck no," he had said in response.
As I shoved my feet into the black stilettos that were the most comfortable while still simultaneously being the highest of the lot, I decided we would be hashing the issue back up again after we got home.
"Dress looks great, but why the fuck did it take half an hour to slip into it?" he asked and I took the compliment and rolled my eyes at the complaint as he walked over to me, reaching up behind me and letting my hair out of the clip I had gathered it in for the sole purpose of letting him let it back down again.
"It might have something to do with the dungeon you make me keep my clothes in," I suggested as his hands brushed my hair onto my shoulders.
To that, his lips tipped up. "I'll have one of the guys install a light. Now can we stop talking about the fucking closet already?"
"We can stop talking about it when you give me more of it," I said as I brushed past him, yelping a bit as he swatted my ass before opening the door for me.
"You've gotten awfully mouthy since you officially moved in," he remarked as we walked to his car. My beat-up clunker was parked in a discreet back corner and it was what I insisted on driving whenever I went out alone, despite the growl and "You've got to be fucking kidding me" Byron always gave me when I grabbed the keys. I was a lot of things, not the least being independent. I was okay living in his house. I was even okay with him buying me clothes. But I drew the line at freaking vehicles. I didn't care how much he insisted I let him get me something "from this century" that won't "give me asbestos poisoning" when I got in it. I would get myself a new car as soon as it was practical. Which, as things were going, wouldn't be that long.
"Are you complaining?" I asked, lowering into the passenger seat.
"Not at all. I'll just punish you later for it," he smiled as he lowered into his seat and pushed the ignition.