Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 137205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
But I must possess the power to break her if I wanted to. She has to know I do, and she has to trust me enough to give it to me anyway.
It’s a tall order, one that requires a lot of bravery on her part.
If I expect her to fill it, she has to know she’s safe with me.
Well, more or less.
Her pussy isn’t safe, but the rest of her is.
Her pussy likes when I play with it, anyway.
Her pussy isn’t as worried about conventionality as she is.
To prove my point, I reposition myself so that I’m on top of her but no longer pinning her down. I slide my hand between her legs. She gasps at first and tries to squeeze them shut, but it’s a momentary lapse, an instinct she hasn’t learned to override yet.
She’ll have to. If she means to let the predator play with her, she’ll have to ignore all those sensible instincts that tell her not to.
The muscles in her legs relax as she forces herself to calm down. Her chest rises and falls quickly, her breathing so laborious. She closes her eyes like she can’t watch herself let me do this, but as soon as I cup her pussy in my hand, it’s like a kitten purring against my palm. I use light touches to tease her slit. I love watching her body react, tensing and twisting as she tries to move away from the pleasurable sensations she wants no part of.
Or, she doesn’t want to want any part of.
Her body has no such qualms, it’s an uncomplicated thing concerned with its own pleasure and not much else. When I finally sink a finger into her pussy, it comes out drenched. An agonized sound slips out of her as I plunge it back in so easily, her pussy slick with its own juices.
I wonder what that feels like. Shame. Such a senseless emotion, but I’ve never been caught in its grasp. I wonder if deep down, it makes the agony just a little more delicious as her body writhes and tries to turn away from my touch.
It’s the shame that makes her so embarrassed when she comes for me. I didn’t call her on it—I didn’t want to humiliate her—but I felt her pussy squeeze my cock when I had her in the dungeon. I know she didn’t want it, but she came just the same.
I fucking love that.
I want her to come for me now. To see her pleasure, and to see if she reacts the same way.
Suddenly, I’m hit with an idea.
I think I can build her confidence in me and test her word at the same time.
And, if I’m right, it’ll be a damned good time—whether she likes it or not.
Chapter Thirteen
Hallie
It’s hard to hold his gaze when he touches me like this.
The frisson of pleasure that curls through me against my own will makes it so much worse.
I want to tap already. I want to ask him to stop, but I’m afraid if I don’t make some allowance he can live with, he’ll disregard my consent altogether.
Fully dressed in an expensive, perfectly tailored suit, Calvin is imposing. Somehow, kneeling on his bed in the dark with his toned, muscular body completely bare makes him look even more powerful.
I haven’t encountered that before. I remember the first time I saw Jackson in a suit—my own personal catnip—how attractive I found him. Then I remember the end of our fifth date when we went back to his place. I remember feeling a bit letdown—not that I would ever express that to him, of course—when he hopped across the floor toward the bed, tangled up in the leg of his pants. I remember he looked pale and scrawny and awkwardly hairy. I didn’t expect him to look like an athlete or anything, but as much as he bragged about the time he spent in the gym and how he did rowing in college, I guess I expected something… different.
I remember how impatient he seemed before he even got naked. The clumsy way he grabbed at my clothing to remove it, the brief, sloppy kiss I got before he hauled me to the bed.
It makes me wish I’d been awake when Calvin undressed me. He didn’t let me experience it for myself, but instinctively, I envision him as a firm, decisive undresser. I picture him patient, too, knowing how to draw out anticipation and knowing the journey is half the fun. If I close my eyes, I can imagine his sure grip as he gently tugs down the zipper on the back of the dress. I envision him gripping my shoulders to keep me exactly where he wants me, then tugging the expensive dress down and letting it pool on the floor at my feet.