Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Chasing Ella was the most erotic and exciting game I’d ever partaken in. She wasn’t the first person I’d played this game with. There had been other girls, but none energized my soul like Ella. My connection to her was primal, a need I couldn’t contemplate or ignore.
I sat on the thick branch and witnessed how she reacted to River. Pride bloomed within me as Ella kicked him, her nails scraping against his arms to free herself. I wished it was my flesh she scored with her sharp nails.
River howled as he let Ella loose. She’d bitten him. She rushed further into the forest. I watched her long hair bounce in the moonlight for a moment before I climbed down from the tree and chased her.
She was fast. Much faster than I’d expected. But then again, the harder the chase, the sweeter the spoils. I quickened my speed, and it took no time for my long legs to catch up with her, taking one stride for every two of hers.
“You can run, but you can’t hide, Princess,” I taunted.
“Then I better hope I can outrun you,” she panted, out of breath.
“Princess, I’ve been doing this my whole life. Something tells me that a spoiled little girl like you isn’t used to roughing it in the woods.”
Two quick steps, and I was in lock with her. I reached out and hoisted her against my chest. I brushed my nose against her nape, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. Lilac and honey. She always smelled like damn honey.
“Now you’ve caught me, whatever will you do?” Ella asked breathlessly.
“I’m going to nibble on every fucking part of you.”
It’s hard to concentrate when she’s in front of me, smelling like honey. I want to push her against the wall, strip her bare, and feast on her flesh. Kiss every inch of her until she’s panting and begging for release like that night on the forest floor. But the hardest lesson I’ve ever learned is that I rarely get what I want.
“What’s going on, Alaric?” Ella asks softly, pushing me into giving her answers I am not ready to unleash.
Ella constantly pushes me, demanding more. It isn’t her insistence that upsets me; it’s my impotence at not being able to give it to her. I wish I were a better man so I could throw the world at her feet. But I’m not. I’m a piece of shit who got lucky once and tasted heaven.
I grip her arms and turn her, pushing her against the wall. Stepping into her, I crowd her body and hold her still. We both know she can’t escape. Maybe if she’s terrified of me, her self-preservation will kick in. “You don’t get to make demands of me, Ella. I’m not some pathetic boy who will fall to his knees so you’ll look at him.”
Ella’s chest rises and falls. Her bottom lip quivers. She blinks multiple times to keep whatever emotion is about to fly out of her in check.
I have an unrelenting need to pull her close and tell her everything will be all right. But what I want to do and what I want to say are opposing forces.
I’m not in a position to be anyone’s knight in shining armor. I wasn’t born with hopes and aspirations. My only purpose in life was to play a role that guaranteed a deplorable monster would continuously receive what she desired. Sometimes, I find small pockets of peace in the hellish nightmare of my life, stolen moments hidden in the shadows.
The night with the four of us, I truly hoped my life could be better. I deluded myself into believing Celeste could finally be happy. Content in a marriage with a man who appeared to love her beyond all reason. Perhaps he could thaw her frigid heart and compel her to release me from the prison I’ve been in since my conception. A foolish notion permanently wiped away the night Celeste poisoned him. His death was ice water in my face.
Celeste isn’t capable of happiness or love.
“Please, Alaric,” Elle pleads, grabbing my suit jacket lapels and bunching the fabric.
My heart hammers violently with every gentle pound of her fist. Her desperation moves me more than anything else in my life. The agony in her voice is ballistic missiles aimed at detonating my already mangled and demented heart.
I should lie to her, make her understand I’m a monster that will destroy her life, so she understands exactly what kind of hellscape she’s facing. But as much as I want her to run, to hate me, a part of me can’t bear the idea. I realize what I need to do to make her despise me, but those actions will eventually lead to my destruction because her opinion of me is enough to sustain my very being.