Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
But damned if I have the control to say no.
Not when deep down I really want it.
“Boston,” I whimper.
I hear his jeans unbuckle, and then his cock is pressing against my ass. He bends me slightly, removes his finger, and then he’s inside me. Deep and fucking hard. So fucking hard it burns. I cry out and his hand comes around, clamping over my mouth. And then he fucks me, he fucks me so hard I see stars, my legs get weak, and I rely on the car to stop me from falling.
I cum, and I cum hard, screaming into his hand, my head spinning, my vision blurring, but no amount of alcohol can take away from the pleasure ripping through my body.
He cums, too. Minutes later, a feral groan in my ear and a few hard thrusts before his body goes still and his cock pulses inside me. Over and over. Until he’s emptied himself deep in me. Then his hand slowly comes away from my mouth, and my lips burn from the pressure. I don’t think I can move. My head is spinning, and my body is on fire. Boston pulls out, fumbles around for a bit, and then kindly puts my shorts back in place and slowly turns me around.
I stumble.
That felt incredible, but my head is done for.
“Boston,” I whisper, fingers clutching at his shirt. “I’m drunk.”
“I know, babe,” he murmurs, circling an arm around my waist.
“I’m going to regret that in the morning,” I whisper as my legs give out from beneath me and he scoops me up into his arms.
“Know that too.”
“Why do you have to do this to me?” I say, turning into his chest and breathing him in.
Fucking heaven.
“Because I can’t fuckin’ stay away.”
“Then don’t,” I murmur, before closing my eyes and tucking myself into him.
Loving how his strong arms feel around me, and his chest feels pressed against my face.
Safe.
Home.
“Have to.”
That’s the last thing I hear him say before I pass out.
I know I’m drunk.
But I also know when I wake in the morning, tonight is going to suck a whole damned lot.
A whole damned lot.
~9~
NOW – PENELOPE
“You can’t be serious,” I breathe, walking up to my front door.
My stomach is sick, my hands are trembling, and I’m scared. Scared out of my mind. Because my door is open. It’s open and I know, I just damn well know, that I locked it. Someone has been here, or is still here. In my house. My home. My fingers tremble as I reach the front door and look down at the lock. It’s mutilated. Whoever broke into it did it without trying to be sneaky.
I push the door, knowing I should probably just turn around and call the police, but for some reason I can’t stop my feet from moving close, needing to know what’s behind this door. What horror I’m about to face. Someone has broken into my home, and I don’t know what I’m about to find. Hell, I’m probably about to walk right into a dangerous situation. There could be someone waiting.
But deep down, I already know who did this.
I know.
I’ve been ignoring his calls. I’ve not been answering when he comes over and bangs on my door. I’ve walked away from his stupid girlfriend when she’s tried to approach me on the street. I’ve made them angry, and I just have an awful feeling they’ve taken matters into their own hands. They’ve decided for themselves what they’re entitled to and have come in and taken it.
I push the door open and step inside.
A pained cry leaves my throat, and tears burst forth and roll down my cheeks.
My home is destroyed.
Trashed.
Ruined.
Everything is upturned, broken, or slashed. Not one single piece of everything I own and love has been left untouched. They’ve destroyed everything. My knees tremble and I grab hold of the door frame to stop myself from going over. I feel like I’m going to pass out. I don’t know if I can stay upright. A pained sob fills the broken room, and with trembling fingers, I pull out my phone.
I can handle threats.
I can handle Ashton.
But this has gone too far.
I need help.
“Penny.”
Boston’s voice comes across as a soothing and welcomed relief.
It takes me a moment to gather myself and stop my sobbing.
“Boston,” I croak.
“What’s wrong? What’s goin’ on?”
“I ... I need you to come over here.”
“Where are you? At my house? Yours?”
“Mine. Please. Hurry.”
“Coming. Right now.”
He hangs up the phone and I let it slip from my fingertips. I stare at the ruined mess. I’m insured, of course, but that means little right now. These things, they were special to me. Family heirlooms. Furniture I’ve worked hard for. Special things that mean a whole lot to me. Ashton knows that. He knows me better than anyone. So he knows that doing something like this will utterly destroy me.