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)
“Did you miss me, baby?” I nuzzle her neck, knowing it will fire her up more than anything else I can do.
She hates me for it, doubling her attempt to get away.
I hate that I like it so fucking much, hate that I want to just hold her like this, that I’m having thoughts of spending time in bed with her curled into my body.
I used to think of Lauren as a virus, something to eradicate like mice in the attic or invasive weeds in the yard.
It wasn’t until I accepted that I liked her brand of crazy that I was able to set my mind at ease.
She isn’t something to rid myself of. She’s my other half. She’s a requirement, a necessity, and as much as I hate it, I also love it. We’ll never be equals, but even knowing that, I’m well aware of the fact that without her, I can’t be me.
“I fucking hate you,” she rasps, her breathing becoming more difficult as I press more of my weight onto her.
She can’t even fool herself at this point when her legs fall open as I settle on her, my thick cock pressing against that needy cunt of hers.
When she turns her head, refusing to look at me, I know she wants to beg for it. If I weren’t so needy for her myself, I might make an effort to force her to do that, but I’ve been waiting too long for her return. I no longer have the restraint to make it last, but I mentally add it to my list of things to do later tonight or tomorrow morning.
“How wet are you, you sick twisted bitch?”
“Dry as a fucking bone,” she snaps, even knowing I’m going to prove her wrong.
I can feel the heat of her against me, the wetness that has to be pooling between her thighs.
The fucking jeans she’s wearing are going to be a problem, but I’ve overcome bigger hurdles in my life.
“I want my shit!”
“I’m going to give you everything you want and more,” I promise.
Her body jolts with the declaration, and I know it’s half thrill and half apprehension.
“You could’ve made this easier for me,” I complain as I reposition my hand so I can keep holding her down while I reach for her zipper.
“Never,” she hisses, once again struggling to get away from me.
“That’s my girl.”
Her head snaps up, her teeth locking on my shoulder.
I live in the pain for a few seconds, nearly blowing my load on her stomach when she moans at the taste of my blood on her tongue.
“So fucking dirty,” I praise when she pulls her head back. “My turn.”
I don’t go for her shoulder or pain, rather I lock my lips over her nipple through her shirt.
She whimpers, needy and ready for what I have to give her.
It’s enough of a distraction for her to drop the knife she still had clenched in her fist.
“You’re making this a little too easy for me, baby. Does that mean you want it?” I ask as I use my free hand to pick up the knife.
Her eyes track the movement of the knife, and I want to slap the shit out of her when she angles her neck, giving me more access when I trail it down her cheek.
“Is that what you really want?” I lean in close, my lips brushing hers as I speak.
It’s a dangerous move for me with her penchant for using her mouth to cause pain.
She blinks up at me, and even in the dim light I can see the battle in her eyes.
“You deserve the pain I give you.”
She shakes her head, denying it, but I drop the knife and clench her face roughly in my hands.
She isn’t rejecting the fact that she disagrees with the pain. She feels as if she’s earned it. It’s the fact that she’s getting something she wants, something that feels so fucking right on her skin that she can’t accept.
Being worthy of something isn’t in her vocabulary because she’s been torturing herself for as long as she can probably remember. She doesn’t know anything else.
“Hurt me,” she begs, and I know what it takes for her to do it.
“I’m going to take you nice and slow, baby. Be patient.”
She doubles her efforts to get away just like I knew she would.
I find myself wanting both sides of her—the woman who needs the pain but also the one who desires the soft touches and gentle words, because they make her feel loved not because she’s using them as another form of punishment.
It may take years, but I’m willing to put in the work to achieve both sides of that woman.
She ended things once, muttering the two words I gave her, and I don’t know why she doesn’t whisper them now. Maybe she thinks they won’t make a difference since I just caught her trying to kill me.