Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
“I would never hurt you,” he says, and then gives a bitter laugh. “I guess that’s not true. I hurt you tonight.”
“We hurt each other. We can’t do that again.”
“Agree. One hundred percent agreed. I need—”
“Me, too,” I whisper.
He eases back, studies me, a wicked burn in the depths of his stare, as he drags his hand over my breast, down my waist, to cup my backside and pull me hard against his erection.”
“Very certain,” I assure him, sounding breathless even to myself.
He plants me against the wall, tugs my blouse out of my skirt, and yanks it open, little buttons popping everywhere.
I gasp, and he says, “Now you’ll have to let me take you shopping.”
“I liked that blouse.”
He slides it down my shoulders and pulls me to him. “I’ll buy you another and you’ll let me, understand?”
I laugh. “We’ll see.”
“Now you just want to be punished. I won’t let you down.”
Punished.
It’s not the first time he’s used this word and I wait for it to scare me, but I don’t feel fear with Eric. Just remnants of the pain we’d burned into each other, and I don’t want to feel it, or remember it. I want to forget. He uses passion and pain to bury his demons and I want to bury mine, too. “Punish me how?” I ask, my chin lifting, my stare boldly meeting his.
His eyes light with approval—I have not rejected the idea of punishment all together. He knows this and he understands the invitation I’ve given him to take me there, whatever “there” means to him. He tangles the silk of my blouse around my wrists, securing them behind me, and just that easily, I am at his mercy, but then haven’t I always been? Leaning in and pressing his lips to my neck, his teeth grope the delicate skin, goosebumps splattering about my skin here and there. I suck in a breath, every part of me on fire. My nipples, my sex, even my skin is tingling. “You’re mine.” He drags his gaze to mine, the gleam of possessiveness and white-hot lust in his stare. “Say it.”
I’ve told him the idea of depending on him scares me and I see this for what it is, him pulling down that wall. Forcing me to tear it down, showing me there’s no pleasure in fear. But this is not just about me. It’s about him, his need for control, and inside of that demand is the question of trust. Do I trust him? He needs my submission and for someone who has battled for my independence for years now, and just felt so very alone, I’m surprised how much I need it, too. “Yes,” I whisper. “I’m yours.”
But it’s not enough for him. He wants more, “I own you. Say it.”
“Yes,” I concur, but I dare to add, “Do I own you, Eric?”
He tilts my face to his and says, “You owned me the minute you showed up at that pool party braless in that black dress. And the only time I’ve ever regretted that was the six years we were apart, and tonight, when I thought you were going to leave me.”
It’s as raw and real as anything he has ever said to me, and I feel myself melt right here in this bedroom, against this wall. I know he has given me this confession, because of what he feels he took away by pushing so hard tonight. And I need to hear it. I needed it so very badly. This answer pleases me and when his lips brush mine, I feel that wall slide away, feel myself allow the vulnerability that comes with absolute trust.
“I want to touch you,” I plead, and he folds me snug against him, the hard lines of his body absorbing the softness of mine. “Not yet, baby. Not yet,” and somehow, he manages to unhook my new silk bra the personal shopper bought me four sizes in, and one actually fit. It’s black, lacy, sexy, but he pays it no mind. He drags it down my arms, tangles it at my wrist with my blouse, and ties me up with it.
His gaze rakes over my breasts, my puckered nipples, and when his eyes meet mine again, the hunger in his stare steals my breath. “You’re beautiful, Harper. Every inch of you.”
The way he says those words, rough, and laden with lust, has my sex clenching. I have never in my life felt alive in the way I feel right now, with any other man.
He reaches up and teases my nipples, gently at first, and then he’s tugging, pinching, to the point of pain that is somehow pleasure. I gasp again and tilt my head back, my eyes squeezing shut. He catches my face in his hand and drags my gaze to his. “Look at me.”