Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Instead of waiting for me to comply, he grips my hips and pulls me into a kneeling position. Then he flattens his palms on my inner thighs and pushes my legs apart. “Stay like that.”
“Why?” I ask again, watching him as he takes his phone from his pocket and puts it on the nightstand before unbuttoning his shirt and pulling the tail ends from his pants.
The black ink that covers half of his chest captures my attention. No matter how many times I see it, every time feels like the first time. The artwork fascinates me. It’s a replica of the mark branded on my skin, just much bigger, the detail more intricate. I both admire the work of art and loathe it.
My gaze snaps to the word inked above the line of his waistband when he unbuckles his belt.
Resilience.
He pulls down his zipper. “You pointed a gun at me today.”
“So did you,” I exclaim, trying to sit back on my heels, but the slap he delivers with a flat hand on my ass cheek stings so much that I freeze in place.
“If you move, you’ll get another lashing tonight.”
“You’re such a damn hypocrite.”
“I didn’t point a gun at you to shoot you.” He pushes down his briefs and pants. “That was to teach you a lesson. You, however, pulled the trigger.”
The reminder tightens my chest. I don’t want to think about it. I can’t. I can’t admit what that means.
“I’m going to punish you, bella, like you deserve, but if you relax, you may love it more than hate it.”
My mind races ahead, trying to figure out what he has in mind. Not another lashing. Something different. Yet if he went to the lengths of massaging me to coax my muscles into softening, what he has in store for me can only be bad. I’m tense again in an instant, all his effort to relax me for nothing.
I swallow. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m afraid I must.” His voice doesn’t hold an ounce of regret. “What kind of husband will I be if I let you believe you can get away with killing me?”
Before I have time to formulate a reply, he cups my sex and rubs his fingers over my clit. My body responds in an instant, my muscles tightening.
“I wasn’t going to do this,” he says, rubbing oil over his cock. “Not tonight.”
The warning registers too late. I feel his intention when he presses the head of his cock on the wrong hole and breaches it with a punch of his hips. My scream bounces off the walls. My first reaction is to crawl away from him, but he digs his fingers into my hips and holds me in place.
“Relax,” he says, breathing hard. “It’ll make it easier to take me.”
Reaching behind me, I grab his wrist, not sure if I’m pushing him away or holding on. “I can’t.”
“You can, and you will. You will take all of me in your tight little ass.”
As if to prove his point, he shoves deeper. It hurts too much.
“You’ll tear me,” I shout, not caring who hears.
“I won’t.” He rubs his hands up my sides and closes his fingers around my breasts. “Just work with me.”
My breath catches when he moves. He’s too thick, too long. “I don’t have to do anything for you.”
“It’s not for my sake. I’m already enjoying this. It’s entirely for yours.”
He punches his hips, making me yelp.
“Play with yourself,” he orders, his cock sinking deeper. “It’ll help.”
He can’t know that it will. He doesn’t feel what I’m feeling. A part of me doesn’t want to make this easier on myself. I want to remember that he’s cruel and unfeeling, and he’s proving it so effectively.
When I don’t oblige, he lets go of one breast and slips his hands around my waist and between my legs. In this, he’s a fast learner, knowing exactly how to touch me to wrench pleasure from my body. The signals are mixed. It feels as if he’ll tear me apart even as the slow build of an orgasm contracts my core. The overbearing sensations increase when he parts my folds and sinks a finger inside. I’m too full. Too close.
He finds purchase on my hip again while pumping his finger. My inner muscles clench around the intrusion. My pleasure spikes. It’s not that I don’t feel the discomfort. It’s just muddled in the haze of my need. It’s absorbed in the explosion of unbearable pleasure that destroys me like a bomb would flatten a landscape. It happens as fast as it’s intense, leaving me legless in seconds. It’s only Angelo’s grip on my hip that keeps me on my knees.
The moment my muscles give and my body softens, he buries his whole length inside me. I don’t have to look to know. I feel. The pummeling of his groin against my ass is almost too much to bear, but I don’t have the energy or the will to stop it. I can only take it, half sagging and half choking as he beats out a rhythm that leaves me raw. I’m down and I can’t get up, not when a pleasure much darker and deeper ravages the wreckage he’s made of my body, making me clench around his cock.