Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
“Spanking is for the Christian Greys of the world,” he says, smirking.
“Like the dude from that porn movie?”
“I know you’re not sheltered, boy. That was far from fucking porn. Mr. Grey is refined and structured. Contracts and bullshit.” He lifts a brow as he drags his stare down to my split lip. “I’m more of an animal. Feral and possessive. The need to dominate. Control is threaded into my DNA. Every breath, every thought, every action is fueled by my desire to hunt my prey. It’s what drove me to join the police force.”
“So, spanking’s out,” I say tightly.
He rubs his thumb along my jaw, making my hairs stand on end. “I’m not limited on my ways of punishing. If I need to whip my boy into shape and the only thing I have available is my hand, then I’ll use my damn hand.”
I’m not sure how I feel about getting spanked.
My dick’s semi-hard in my sweats, though.
“What are you so afraid of?” he asks, his palm sliding down my throat. He squeezes slightly. “Tell me—and don’t fucking lie.”
I swallow and close my eyes. “I don’t know.”
“You want to burn so goddamn badly?” he asks, his voice a deep growl.
I snap open my eyes. “Yeah.”
“Then I’m going to let you burn.” He leans forward and kisses my lips chastely. “But I’m going to be the one to burn you.” His teeth tug at my bottom lip, sending curls of pleasure dancing down to my dick. “Not just on your arms.” He releases my neck and drags his knuckle down the side of my throat. “Here,” he says as he circles my nipple over my shirt, “and here.”
My breath hitches when he teases my other nipple. Burning my nipples sounds like fucking torture. So why the hell am I turned on?
“And here,” he murmurs, running his knuckle over my lower abs.
I nearly stop breathing as I anticipate him going lower, but instead, he runs his knuckle over my inner thigh.
“Maybe here too. I haven’t decided.” He sounds amused. “I’m going to make you cry.”
I scoff. “Fucking right.”
“Sorry to break it to you, Xa, but you don’t know shit.”
Scowling, I shove his hand away. “And you don’t know shit about me.”
“You’re transparent as hell,” he says, unaffected by my pissy attitude. “You hide from your feelings until they eat you alive. And rather than letting them consume you, I’m going to be the one consuming.” He leans forward, his mouth at my ear, tickling me. “I am ravenous, boy. Fucking starved for you.”
I let out a surprised groan when he nips at my earlobe.
“Finish working on your song. I’m going to plate up some food.” He stands, abandoning me on the swing with a half hard dick and whole heart bursting with confusing feelings.
Burn…burn…burn…
I want you to hurt me.
The song unravels inside my head. I snag up my guitar, eager to put music to the words. With my eyes closed, I strum the chords and sing along.
I’m lost in thought when the swing moves as he sits back down. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but he’s set out two plates and a couple beers. I set my guitar down on the ground and pick up my plate.
“This doesn’t smell like a frozen lasagna,” I say as I stab at the steaming food with my fork. I groan as I take a bite. “This is too fucking good to be frozen.”
He chuckles. “While your lazy ass was sleeping in the truck, I ran into the store to get a few necessities. A lady named Hilda always has something home cooked, ready for reheat. Lasagna is a town fave.”
“I love Hilda,” I say as I inhale the lasagna.
“She’s barely five feet tall and has a wart on her face. Still love her?”
“Yes,” I joke. “I’m going to have all her babies.”
“You can tell her next time we run into town.”
We finish our food as he tells me about some of the rookie cops he works with. I’m enjoying his stories while drinking a beer…until I realize how domestic this all feels. Familiar—like with Lex—and easy.
I jump to my feet, suddenly alive with nerves. “I need to go to bed.” Before he can argue, I snag my guitar and haul ass upstairs.
It felt like a fucking date just now.
A date I was enjoying.
I’m torn between wanting to throw a goddamn tantrum and running back downstairs to keep the night going. Instead, I pace the bedroom floor.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
I stare at my Zippo I threw on the bed. The urge to flip it open and scald my skin is intense. I could. But Blaine said…
He wants to hurt me.
A calm washes over me at the thought of giving my pain over for him to control. I’m always so mentally fucking exhausted, a weight lifts at the thought.