Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“Look at me, Sabella.”
I lift my gaze to his. His handsome features are set in hard lines. The turbulent emotions warring in my chest are reflected in the dark, bitter brown of his eyes.
Twisting my ponytail around his fist, he says, “I want this war to be over.”
I can only assume he means the animosity between us. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have started it.”
His voice is clipped. “I had no choice.” Reeling me in with my hair twisted around his hand, he unzips himself with the other. “I had to steal your father’s book.”
My mouth opens on a silent gasp. That wasn’t what I imagined. Obviously, for him, our war goes back all the way to the beginning. Before I have time to gather my thoughts, he’s freed his cock. He takes advantage of my parted lips to shove inside, aiming straight for the back of my throat.
I gag.
He pulls halfway out and slides back in over my tongue. “It was the only way to ensure our wedding would continue as planned.” Filling me with his hardness, he pushes so deep I don’t have a choice but to swallow around him. “The only way to make you mine.”
I’m choking, too driven by my primal need for survival to digest the information he just shared.
“You were always the only objective that mattered.” He pulls out and lets me breathe. “I wish there was another way, but there wasn’t.”
I drag in a ragged breath, trying to get my head around the meaning of his words, but he’s already pumping through my lips and using his grip on my hair to control my movements and make me meet his thrusts.
Tears leak from my eyes. Saliva runs down my chin. The sounds I make are needy, and despite the armor I pulled up around my heart, my folds swell and turn slick with arousal. The ache between my legs is overwhelming, robbing me of any other thoughts, but I’m fighting, fighting not to let this turn me on and fighting through the fog of lust to understand his declaration.
“For you,” he says, fucking my mouth harder. “I did it all for you.”
I grab his thighs for purchase, hugging his legs instead of pushing him away. Holding on instead of letting go.
He tilts his hips and pushes my face against his groin, making me swallow everything. My throat feels raw. My mouth stretches so wide to accommodate him I swear the corners must tear. I focus on inhaling through my nose, but the intrusion in my throat prevents the air from reaching my lungs. My throat convulses, milking his cock. He grunts and holds me to him, uttering words of praise and encouragement, but I’m no longer listening.
White spots dance in my vision. Like him, I’m tired of fighting this war, and as I cling to him and give in to exhaustion, I get a glimpse of how easy it will be to give up. How sweet it will taste to let go. To drift in a darkness, a warm and comfortable place that’s free of obligations and judgement. I let it take me, sinking deeper, and it feels so good to no longer be tired. No longer tense. To swallow his cum.
I’m in my happy place. Water. I don’t want to surface. It’s soothing under the rigid line that separates the sky from the sea. The rigid line of right and wrong. Of honoring my family and my dad’s memory or loving a man. No, not a man. A monster. My dark angel. But with only the soft gushing of the current in my ears and the gentle rocking of the tide, I don’t have to think anymore. I don’t have to choose between hate and love.
The rocking turns more insistent, the tide growing stronger. I moan in protest. The sand beneath me is hard instead of soft, and when I lift my hands, the sun is warm beneath my palms. My body follows the rhythm of that slipstream. A wave builds around me, pulling me to the shore.
“No.”
I don’t want to surface. I want to hold my breath. I want to stay under the water forever. I want to inhale the saline darkness and grow fins like a fish, but the persistent need that builds in my core is like a tether that ties me to the land. The pleasure pulls my body tighter. It lifts me closer to the sun. It draws me into strong arms and coaxes me into moving to that intoxicating rhythm.
“That’s it, cara,” the water says, sweeping me farther and faster along. “Come with me.”
So I go. I let it carry me to the break where the eager waves crush and maul. I let it drag me under and bend my body, and when the swell lifts and lifts and finally curls, I crash on land. The sea spits me out, forcing me to breathe. The light that filters through my eyelids as I peel them open isn’t the daylight on a beach baked warm by the sun. It’s the overhead light in the lounge. The heat surrounding me isn’t a perfect summer’s day. It’s my water. My husband.