Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Tell me what you need,” I command thickly, and her breath hisses between her teeth as I push my fingers deeper into her ass, stretching it, preparing it. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I don’t…” She moans, her eyes squeezing shut as I scissor my fingers, stretching her further. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. Look at me.”
Her eyes obediently flutter open, and her delicate tongue peeks out to dampen her lower lip.
“Tell me, Sara. Tell me what you really need.”
“I…” Her breathing quickens further as I begin to grind into her, making sure to press on her clit with every movement. “It’s… this. Peter, I need this. I need you inside me. I need you to”—she gasps as I thrust deeper into her—“take me and…”
“And what?” I prompt, my spine tingling as I feel her inner muscles tighten.
“To fuck me.” She’s panting now, her gaze turning hazy and unfocused. “To… to hurt me.”
“Yes.” My voice comes out hoarse. “That’s right. And you are mine. Mine to fuck, to hurt, to do anything I want with. Aren’t you, my love?”
She nods, her eyes refocusing on mine. “Yes. Always.”
Always. The word pierces my chest, bringing with it a mix of warm tenderness and violent satisfaction. I love that she understands it now. Admits it.
We are meant for each other. I’ve known it from the beginning—and now she knows it too.
Dipping my head, I reclaim her lips, keeping the kiss soft and gentle even as I pull my fingers out of her and hook both hands under her thighs, spreading her legs wider as I lift her higher. My cock slips out of her pussy and presses against her back entrance.
Her breath hitches on a gasp, but I’m already lowering her onto my stiff cock, using the force of gravity and the slickness of her natural lubrication to aid my penetration. If I hadn’t stretched her with my fingers, it would’ve been impossible, but as is, the ring of muscle gives in to the unyielding pressure and I slide into her tight channel, feeling her insides squeeze me in a frantic effort to resist the invasion.
“Peter…” She’s trembling as I lift my head, meeting her gaze once more. “Peter, please…”
“Yes,” I promise huskily. “I will please you, ptichka. I will give you what you need… everything you need.”
And holding her gaze, I begin to move, taking her to where pain edges into pleasure and love and hate collide.
To that beautiful place where she’s mine and mine alone.
18
Henderson
I study the new set of photos on my screen as I rub the knotted muscles in my neck, trying to ignore my growing headache.
Reaching out to the FBI worked, and it didn’t take much prodding, either. Agent Ryson was only too glad to resume his investigation into Sokolov for me.
I’m not holding my breath that he’ll uncover anything, but that’s not the point of it, anyway. I just need an investigation to exist, even if it’s more of a personal vendetta by a disgruntled agent.
Opening the folder on my desk, I study the blueprints inside. The plan is beginning to take shape, slowly but surely. Now I just need to find the right people to execute it.
The sounds of automatic gunfire reach my ears, exacerbating the painful throbbing in my temples. Shoving the folder aside, I stand up and walk into the living room.
“Jimmy.”
My fifteen-year-old son doesn’t react.
I repeat his name louder.
“What?” he snaps without tearing his gaze away from the screen.
“Lower the volume on that fucking game,” I say as calmly as I can.
He flips me the bird.
My headache morphs into a blazing migraine, my neck spasming with fresh pain as icy rage spreads through my veins.
Outwardly calm, I walk over to the couch and snatch the controller from my son’s hands.
“Hey!” He jumps up, trying to grab it back, and the back of my hand crashes into his face, knocking him off his feet.
“I told you to turn down that fucking game,” I say as he stares up at me, cradling his jaw.
And dropping the controller on the floor, I walk back into my office.
19
Sara
I wake up Saturday morning with the knowledge that Peter and I have been married for a week—and that we just spent the first night in our new house.
I didn’t have a chance to look at everything last night, so I take in the bedroom now. It’s bright and spacious, with the walls painted a soothing, pale blue-gray and the recessed ceiling at least twelve feet high above our king-sized oak-frame bed.
It’s pretty and modern, and I have a sudden wifely urge to buy plants to put in every corner.
Grinning, I stretch, then wince at the inner soreness. After that brutal claiming in the hallway, Peter carried me upstairs and took me again in the shower, then one more time in this bed.