Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
It's a devastating way to live.
I place my hand on his broad back, feeling the tension in his coiled muscles. "It's okay. I'm here." I scramble to my knees, pressing myself up against him from behind. "You're safe."
Before I can even process how it happened, I'm on my back with him on top of me, my hands pinned beside me.
He stares down at me, wildness still glinting in his eyes. "Karina," he growls, his voice gravelly and raw. "you're playing with fire, little girl."
I don't flinch. I'm not afraid. His weight is a paradox—exhilarating yet comforting, overwhelming yet not nearly enough. His hard lines press against the soft curves of my body, and I feel every ounce of his turmoil.
"You're offering a dying man salvation," he grits out, his breath hot against my skin. The darkness writhes within him, threatening to swallow us both. "Keep it up, and he might take more than you meant to give."
If it intends to scare me, it isn't working. There's nothing he could take that I'm not offering freely.
"Then take it," I whisper fiercely, closing the space between our mouths with a desperation that surprises even me. "Take me, Coda."
His groan vibrates through me, a sound of surrender that shatters the last of his resistance.
Our kiss is desperate, a clash of lips and teeth that tastes of need and an unspoken plea for absolution. My fingers thread through his hair, holding him to me as though I can anchor his soul—as if I'm offering him mine.
Our bodies twine together, a tangle of grasping limbs and aching need as we surrender to the inferno growing between us.
His hands, rough and unyielding, glide over my body as he tears at my clothes, no longer steady and controlled. He's a livewire, crackling against my skin. Entire acres of my body fall into fire. My breath hitches as his lips find mine again, fierce and demanding, telling me without words precisely how this is going to go.
This man isn't sweet and gentle.
That's okay. I'm coming to realize that I love the dark.
"Karina," he rasps against my ear, his voice thick with desire as he rips his shirt off over his head. "You're about to know what it means to be wholly mine."
The promise in his tone sends a shiver down my spine, a delicious anticipation that pools heat deep within me. There's an urgency to his movements, something primal and unstoppable, as he yanks his pants down his legs, baring himself to me.
If I thought he was beautiful in his suits, it's nothing compared to now. He's carved from granite and covered in ink, a monument to the night.
I reach out to touch him, savoring the way his muscles ripple beneath my fingertips. His gaze is hot on me as I trace swirls over his pebbled nipples and paint paths down his hardened abs.
The man is a canvas of scars and tattoos, each one telling a story of violence and survival. I draw my fingers lower, stopping at the waistband of his tented boxers.
"Coda," I whisper, my voice shaking with anticipation.
At the sound of his name, an unholy spark ignites in his eyes.
He grunts, the sound full of animalistic need, and pushes me back onto the bed. His lips descend on my body, kissing a fiery trail that has me arching off the bed—over my collarbones, between my breasts, across my belly, until he's kneeling between my spread legs, a domineering presence that has me clutching at the sheets. He stares up at me through his dark lashes, lips glistening wickedly in the dim light.
"Breathe."
Before I can even process what he means, he dives between my legs. His tongue presses against my clit, as he explores intimately, roughly, setting off fireworks behind my eyelids.
"Coda!" I gasp, tangling my fingers in his hair as he feasts upon me. There's nothing sweet about this. It's raw and untamed and terrifyingly beautiful. He eats me as if he never intends to stop. As if I'm his to do with as he wishes.
God help me, but I think I might be.
He grips me tightly, pinning me beneath him when I try to squirm away from the relentless onslaught of pleasure he metes out. He growls against me in warning, sending shockwaves through me that leave me whimpering.
And then he reaches lower still—bold, unapologetic—seeking out that other place of forbidden pleasure. His fingers tease at the entrance before sliding inside—the intrusion far too welcome.
What is he doing to me? God. What is he doing to me?
"Mine," he growls against my thigh as he continues his wicked assault on my senses.
I come again and then again, helpless to do anything else. Each touch is an explosion. Each lick and suck sends bolts of pleasure ricocheting through my body.
"Please," I plead, not sure I can take much more of his wicked torment.