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)
Thick, throbbing, and fully seated, he growls in my ear.
“Fucking whore.”
He doesn’t sound pleased with himself. It’s more like he’s ashamed for letting me push him to this point.
That’s his fucking cross to bear.
We all have them.
“Please, no,” I beg once again when he pushes inside even further.
There’s nowhere for him to go, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.
Pain leeches through me, spreading from deep inside until it’s enough to make me try and jerk from his arms.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” Each word is punctuated with a thrust of his hips.
A fingernail snaps back when I claw at the door, my boot slipping on the doorknob.
He notices it. Of course he fucking notices, taking a breather from ramming inside of me to watch it fall.
I stiffen, locking my leg so it stays in place.
The man isn’t a liar. He’ll do exactly what he promised, and as much as I pushed him to this point, I refuse to push him to the next. I wouldn’t survive it.
“Well, that’s disappointing,” he snarls. “But I never said I wasn’t going to take your ass anyway.”
I cry out in terror when he pulls from inside of me and situates his cock at my asshole. Clenching is the worst thing I could possibly do, but at this point, I have no fucking control over my body. Everything tenses up.
His laughter is as demented as every other man who has had me exactly like this.
“Scared?” he challenges, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know which road to take.
Either direction could still put me right in the same outcome.
“Please don’t.”
I don’t know why he listens, but instead of hurting me in that way, he drops down an inch and reenters me.
I groan, the intrusion no less rough than it was the first time.
“Who are you pretending for, bitch? Moan like I know you want to.”
I obey, the neediness inside of me bubbling out.
One rough finger drags over my clit before he pinches it.
It’s euphoric, so painful, and perfect.
I must not be responding the way he wants despite demanding it because he grips my throat.
He doesn’t do it on the sides to restrict blood flow. His entire hand is wrapped from side to side. No blood is getting to my brain. No air to my lungs.
Then the real fight begins. I shift and struggle, attempt to gasp, and come up on the losing side of all of it.
My vision blurs, those fingers still pinching my clit until I fear he’ll rip the damn thing right off of me.
His hips never stop. They’re relentless, pulling back, shoving forward, the pattern so brutal each shove must be tearing up the back of his own hand the way it did mine when he demanded I undress.
Blackness starts on the outer halo of my line of sight. It narrows, growing smaller with each passing second.
Then his hand pulls away.
The orgasm hits so hard, I still can’t breathe.
My body convulses, every muscle jerking, drawing in the elements of life it demands.
Screams are no longer possible.
Begging will do no good.
I don’t think slitting my throat at this exact moment would make things any different.
He broke me.
Made me love what he did if only for this exhilarating, intoxicating moment.
It consumes me, leaves me drained.
“Stupid fucking whore,” he snaps, pulling from me so violently, I crumple to the floor as he steps back.
The sting of his hand in my hair barely registers, as does the hot spurts of cum as they splash across my face and tits.
Instinctively, I reach up to wipe my eyes.
“Touch it and I’ll slit your throat.”
I believe him. God help me, I believe this man will do exactly what he says.
My eyes remained closed, but I sense him backing away.
I don’t have the strength to move, to stand or leave the room.
The crash of adrenaline controls me, the chemicals in my brain making my body tremble uncontrollably.
I hate it.
I fucking hate him.
My mouth pulls up at the corners as I start to drift.
Feeding my monsters has never felt so good.
Chapter 9
Angel
Everything is pissing me off today.
The sunshine.
The happy chatter around me in the diner.
Even the fucking perfectly cooked eggs on my damn plate make me livid.
After tossing Lauren’s bag into the motel room and leaving her lying on the floor where she slept last night, I swore to put it all behind me.
I’ve tried. With each breath I’ve taken since walking away, I’ve attempted to just forget the fucking she-devil.
It’s impossible.
With each turn of my head, the cut she made on my neck pulls, a constant reminder of her attempt at bravery.
Each time I pick up my coffee cup, the fresh scabs on my knuckles either flash in my line of vision or they sting when broken open again.
My cock threatens to thicken with every fucking move I make.