Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
She doesn’t say a word or try to inch away when I run a bar of soap over her skin.
“Two in one?” she mutters as I pour shampoo into my hands. “Fuck, I don’t even have dandruff.”
“Neither do I,” I tell her as I rub the product into her wet hair. “Because I use this fucking shampoo.”
Without thinking, I swipe away a pile of bubbles rolling down her forehead. I hate myself for protecting her even in the smallest ways.
She narrows her eyes at me as I grumble to myself, but she remains silent.
Stupidly, she starts to struggle when I drain the tub and pull her out, but if she falls to the floor, that’s going to be on her.
I manage to dry her with her hands still tied behind her back. I know if given the chance, she’d claw my fucking eyes out.
I don’t think she’s playing a part any longer. She isn’t looking for ways to upset me so I overpower her the way she likes.
I want to ask her what happened in Tamaulipas to change things for her, but that would show concern, and I’ve been doing my best to fight that desire in me.
Instead of showing comfort, I toss her on the bed and pull her ass to the edge.
When she tries to scurry away, I flip her to her back. I know her arms are digging into her back. I know from experience how fucking painful it is to lay that way.
I enjoy the wince on her face as I tug her closer to me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps.
“Anything I fucking please. Spread your fucking legs.”
She doesn’t oblige, but I never really expected her to. That’s not part of how she operates, and as I spread them against her will, I realize she isn’t playing a game like she has before.
“Angel, don’t.”
“Beg me to stop,” I taunt as I rip down the front of my sweats and smack her pussy with the tip of my cock.
Her jaw clamps closed. She’d rather me take her any way that I want than beg.
“Have it your way.” I groan as I enter her, my fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs.
It feels so fucking good, I hate her for it.
“Don’t close your fucking eyes,” I hiss, grabbing ahold of her jaw and pointing her face at mine. “I want you to fucking watch.”
It doesn’t take long, a simple five snaps of my hips, before my balls grow tight.
My hand slides from her face to her throat as she stares at me defiantly.
“Fucking bitch. If you come, I’ll hurt you.”
I have no idea which way this is going to go. She could let herself experience that pleasure in defiance or she could refuse. As I watch her face, I know she’s struggling with the decision.
I don’t give her body the chance to decide as I jerk free of her and paint her bruised and mottled flesh with cum.
Her breathing is ragged, and it tells me she might have been close and is thoroughly pissed that I was done using her before she got hers.
A single tear rolls down her cheek, and I fucking hate everything about the way it makes my heart clench. She doesn’t deserve sympathy or guilt.
Knowing that and accepting it aren’t the same thing.
I lean forward to kiss her. Maybe it’s an apology of sorts, but I find I’ve met her threshold of tolerance when she bites my lip so fucking hard I taste blood.
Chapter 26
Lauren
If he comes back at me with soft shit like he did when he brought me to Mission, I’ll lose my fucking mind.
I’m barely holding on to my sanity right now as it is.
Instead of striking me, a slow smile spreads across his face, his teeth marked with his blood from where I bit him.
I can’t determine which guy he is.
Is he the man he was in El Salvador, the one that whimpered when I stuck my hand in his jeans and stroked him?
Or is he the man that just fucked me while tied up with no regard to what I went through recently?
Is he a combination of both?
Does he want to kiss me or does he think that’s what I need? Is it a way to show his own remorse?
I don’t want any of it. I don’t want his compassion or guilt. I don’t want to be responsible for his feelings on any level.
I have to look away from him, and for some reason, this time, he allows it.
I hate myself almost as much as I hate him right now.
Despite my pain, despite the ache in all of my muscles, despite knowing I was drugged and abused, he knows just how to fuck me.
Maybe I should feel my own form of guilt over that, but I can’t seem to muster it right now.