Lessons Learned (Mission Mercenaries #1) Read Online Marie James

Categories Genre: Action, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Romance, Taboo Tags Authors: Series: Mission Mercenaries Series by Marie James
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Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
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She screams in pain when my open palm meets the meat of her ass. She tries to get away, but I’m a fucking monster right now. I’d chase her through the fucking desert to get what I need. I don’t care if anyone sees. I don’t care who could drive up and try to put a stop to this. I’d likely slit anyone’s throat that attempted to pull me away from her.

I’m feral, wild, downright uncontrollable, and I hate her for it.

I don’t know if it’s a moan of pleasure or a whimper of pain when I slam inside of her. I’m not in any fucking state to even attempt to decipher the sounds she’s making. Not that I would bother at this point.

“You fucking whore,” I pant, hating that I’ve let myself be forced into this situation as my hips snap forward and back.

She struggles. Of course she does. I’m a lot to handle on a good day. Any other time, I’d give the woman under me a second to acclimate, but this bitch doesn’t deserve it. She earned this punishment, practically begged for it, and there’s no way I’m not going to give her exactly what she thought she wanted. She can’t change her mind after uncaging the fucking beast.

“Your fault,” I remind her when she struggles enough that I have to re-tighten my grip on her hair.

If she doesn’t have a headache already, she will by the time I’m done.

“You make me hurt you,” I hiss. “Make me abuse you. Fuck, your cunt is so goddamned wet. Sick bitch.”

“Angel, no.” She whimpers her rejection, punctuated with a moan that threatens to make my balls seize in orgasm.

I fucking hate her for that, too.

“Stop!” She screams the word so loud, my hips falter, but then the rhythmic grip of her pussy tells me everything.

She’s punishing herself as much as I am. She didn’t want to come. That’s part of the way she abuses herself.

I fuck her harder, drawing out her release as long as I can before I’m on the edge of losing myself.

With a grunt, I pull free from her, cum spurting on her ass, painting the handprint I left there before entering her.

She’s literally making me insane, I realize as I release her and take a step back. My still-hard cock fights against me as I attempt to shove it back into my jeans.

I’m winded, my breath ragged as I look at her.

Her breaths are just as uneven, punctuated by sobs, but she doesn’t look back at me, doesn’t swipe at the tears staining her face as she tries to straighten her clothing.

I’m sick to my stomach as I walk around to climb back in the truck, breakfast threatening to make a reappearance. I hate myself for what I just did, and I hate her more than ever because I fucking loved it.

As she steps around to get back in with me, I hit the door lock. I can’t bear another fucking second with this woman. I’m going to take things too fucking far, finally get the revenge I spent a very long time thinking of and even longer getting out of my head where she’s concerned. I blame her for so many things, and that power makes me murderous. It’s clear I haven’t learned my lesson about Lauren Vos, but that’s on me.

She glares at me from outside the passenger window, her eyes insisting I let her climb back inside.

I turn my eyes back to the road, put the truck in drive, and leave her standing on the side of the fucking road.

I tell myself not to look back, to simply drive away and finally have this woman out of my life for good, but I can’t even manage that.

When I glance in my rearview mirror, I know I’m in serious fucking trouble.

Lauren is no longer glaring, and I realize just how fucking dangerous she is. The woman is smiling as if she anticipated my response and is—what, happy? Impressed?—that I left her there?

My truck carries me several miles down the road, but despite knowing how resourceful the woman is, I start to slow down. First, my foot comes off the gas, allowing me to coast awhile before I press the brake. I sit idle on the side of the road for long minutes before pounding my hand on the fucking dash.

I fucking hate her, despise everything that she is, but I also don’t want someone else to get to her. I feel like I own her pain. I’m the only one who should be able to hurt her. Revenge on her is mine, and it would be a complete fucking waste if someone got to her for their own sick fucking fantasies.

I turn the truck around, heading back in her direction, and the miles stretch on and on. Lauren is nowhere to be seen.


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