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)
“Your food needs to settle. I’m into a lot of shit but getting puked on while getting sucked off isn’t one of them.”
I grab the plate and leave the room. She doesn’t stop screaming at me for half an hour.
I wait three hours before I go back into the room, once again waking her up.
I don’t hesitate to climb on the bed and shove my cock into her mouth. She doesn’t bite me the way she did my lip when I kissed her earlier, and that speaks volumes. As quick as she is to admit to wanting things to end, she isn’t putting herself in a position to force my hand and make it happen.
I may have thought of killing her more than once in the past. I needed to focus on it so I didn’t lose my damn mind in El Salvador, but she’d be no use to me dead.
Not when she has so many holes to fill and fuck.
“Deeper,” I growl, fisting her hair until those little lines pop up beside her eyes.
I don’t really give her the chance to wrap her lips around me. I’m literally using her throat again like I did in the motel room.
As my balls tighten, my orgasm imminent, I reach down and tease her clit.
She’s fucking slicker than she ever has been. Maybe it’s the way her arms are tied, but I fucking love it.
She can fight and argue, beg me to stop as much as she fucking wants, but this greedy cunt of hers never lies.
My cock kicks, convulsing rhythmically as I orgasm, and the second it’s over, I pull from her mouth, pleased with the way my wet dick slides down her chin.
She growls when I pull my hand from her body, but I know she won’t ask for an orgasm. I know she sees it as beneath her. She’ll take them if she’s forced but asking would be too much.
She wants the pleasure. God, does she fucking want it, but she’s unwilling to cross the line she drew for herself.
I almost want to give it to her, to reward her stubbornness, but that would give her the upper hand and I’m not ready for that just yet.
I doubt I ever will be.
Chapter 28
Lauren
Maybe it was the sandwich or the water he’s been giving me, but I still feel drugged.
I’m exhausted. Every muscle aches. I have a headache that just won’t go away.
I refuse to think of the possibility that I was hurt more than I thought while in captivity.
Maybe there’s something seriously wrong?
I’ve never been one to imagine things as being worse than they are. I’m a critical thinker, someone who takes shit at face value.
But thoughts of disease and cancer have somehow seeped into my head.
When I wake, not only are my arms still tied, the strain in them causing enough pain to make me consider begging for mercy, but now my legs are tied.
I roll my eyes over my body as best I can. I do this every time I wake up, assessing for more damage.
I’ve come up empty since I’ve found myself here with him, but then my eyes land on a small incision on the inside of my bicep. I immediately know what it means, and my blood fucking boils.
I’m once again starfished and naked on this huge bed, and Angel is nowhere to be seen.
I don’t even hear the man in another part of the house.
Tears seep from my eyes, my mind thinking of all possible catastrophes. Did he leave me here to wither away and die? Is he cruel enough for something like that?
I try to convince myself that he isn’t, but I know better. The man is vindictive, just as broken as I am. The only difference is that I’ve tried to use my own pain to help others. Angel will only ever be about himself. I’m tied to this bed because I’m a toy to him, one he will eventually get tired of. I’ll be discarded, and even though I’d like to deny it, I know I’ll never be the same.
I hate change, hate that I’ll once again have to adapt the way I do things.
As I struggle against my restraints, I hate Angel more than ever.
“Let me go!” I scream, my eyes locking on the camera in the corner.
He’s watching me. I fucking know he is. The man didn’t even try to hide it. He doesn’t disguise the camera at all.
It feels more invasive than what he does to my body.
I want to cry and stew in my pity, but I refuse, knowing now that he can see me. It’s a spotlight on my vulnerability, and I’ve always tried to keep that to myself.
It doesn’t take long for my screaming to transition into begging for relief.
The longer I stay tied to this bed, the longer it’s going to take to bounce back. I could tell when he helped me to the bathroom that my muscles had already lost so much power. I could hardly stand on my own. It’s another reason to hate him.