Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
There are no words now. Only sensations. Pleasure, intense, toe-curling, spikes down the length of my body. His hands grip my hips, possessive, controlling. Like he knows what he wants.
“You feel so right,” he whispers, biting my shoulder. “That’s it, keep moving like that. Your tight little pussy was made for me, angel. Your body is mine to destroy, to rebuild, to destroy again. I want you gasping for air, begging me to keep going. I want you to lose your mind.”
“Sounds horrible,” I say, digging my fingernails into his back. “I prefer keeping my mind, thanks.”
“Say my name, angel.” He pushes me down, pinning my hands above my head, fucking me slow, too freaking slow.
I whimper, gyrating, trying to make him go faster, greedy for more. “Carson,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Not that name.”
“You have more names? Asshole. Pigheaded freak. Psychopath. Killer. Take your pick and fuck me.”
“Say my name, angel.”
I know what he wants.
I wish I could deny him.
But with his thick cock deep between my legs, the way he’s moving, hell, the way he’s looking at me, I can’t stop myself as the word bubbles out from between my lips.
“Husband,” I moan, throwing my head back.
Yep, that’s the one.
Carson starts fucking me again. He gives me what I want, still pinning my wrists above my head. His mouth sucks my nipples, bites them hard, teeth digging in. I gasp in pain and pleasure, my brain basically on autopilot at this point, everything short-circuiting, everything overloading with pleasure.
He doesn’t stop. He knows what he’s doing and he loves it. I’m his, all his, and he keeps fucking me deeper, whispering how much he loves my taste, how much he wants to dominate my flesh, until I can’t take it anymore.
I come in a flash of light followed by tunnel vision. My ears ring, but Carson’s not done with me yet, he keeps going. My legs wrap around his hips as he destroys me, and yes, he rebuilds me as he comes deep inside my body.
“Wife,” he groans, pulling me into his chest. “My wife, my wife.” He whispers, smelling my hair like an absolute freak. I like it, but god, what a maniac.
“I never pictured you as the affectionate type.”
“Only after I’ve finished inside your pussy.”
“Oh, what a gentleman.” I smile to myself, holding him tighter. The big man’s breaths are like the lungs of a whale. “Are you always like this?”
“Not at all,” he says, brushing my sweat-damp hair aside. “You bring it out of me.”
“Should I feel special? Mostly I’m just hoping you don’t kill me in my sleep and make a laptop cover from my skin.”
“I’d make a suit and wear it every day. If I were into that.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“Not trying to be.” He kisses me softly. “Hey. Don’t fall asleep on me now.”
My eyelids flutter. “Sorry, big guy, but I’m tired and you just fucked me into a coma. Congrats.”
“I’m not finished with you yet.” He rolls over, placing me down on my belly. He kisses my shoulders, my lower back—then bites my ass hard.
“Ow, what the fuck!” I slap at him but he’s already pulling away. “Oh my god, you left teeth marks. I’m going to freaking bruise.”
“Good.” He smirks at me, head tilted. “Awake now?”
“Yes, you prick. God damn it, that hurt.”
“Now you’re marked. But don’t worry. I’ll cover the bruise by spanking your cheeks red and raw.”
“That’s not better!”
He laughs, covers my body with his, and kisses me.
Chapter 24
Ash
I’m a zombie the next day at Smoke.
At least I have a big, fancy to-go mug filled with delicious artisanal coffee, courtesy of the expensive cafe down the block from Carson’s house.
My house. Whatever.
That and about a dozen bruises dotting my ass, my thighs, and my breasts. All from Carson’s love-bites. The freak.
“Okay, Ash, I’m gonna say it, you look awful.” Bernie stands with her hands on her hips as I sweep up glass. “What’s the deal? Did Carson do this to you?”
“Yes,” I say, sighing.
Bernie’s eyes go wide. “Did he hit you? Tell me he didn’t hit you. I fucking swear, Ash, I will cut off his twisted little—”
“No, no, it’s not that,” I say quickly, dumping the dust pan into a trash bag. “No, he, uh, just, uh, kept me awake.”
I’m blushing bright red like an idiot. Bernie’s angry expression turns into glee. “You slept with him.”
“I might’ve.”
“You bad girl! You banged your husband!”
“Stop it. Things happened, okay?”
“Things? Is that what the kids call it?”
“The kids probably call it, like, forking. Or whatever.”
“My god, you are the lamest individual alive.” Bernie sits up on the bar, elbows on her knees, as I refuse to look at her. “Tell me it was good.”
“It was good.” I pause mid-sweep. “Really good.”
“How good are we talking?”
I finally turn in her direction. “It was so good that I have a bite-shaped bruise on my ass, my legs are killing me, and I want to do it again tonight.”