Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“It doesn’t mean you’re not thinking it. That I’m not thinking it. That every second I sit here, pretending to be a gentleman, entertaining you as if you were my guest and not my property, that it’s not there…in the background, tainting everything.”
My hands shook as I selected a dish with pumpkin and coconut cream. “You’re ruining my appetite.”
“Our conversation is ruining your appetite, or the knowledge that I’m fighting every fucking instinct not to drag you into that villa and fuck you until you pass out again?”
My fork clattered to the table, spraying the white linen with coconut cream. I braced my spine and stared him dead in the eyes. “Why don’t you then? You’ve threatened me enough. Just get it over with.”
He groaned as he forced his hand off his erection and back onto the armrest. “If I did, I doubt I’d stop even if you did pass out.”
“Is that meant to scare me?”
“Does it?”
“Of course, it does.” I sneered. “I could sit here and tell you that you’re never going to touch me. That I won’t allow it. But we both know that’s a lie. It’s a lie because you’re ten times stronger and twice as big.” Brandishing a butter knife, I added, “To be honest, I’m tired of all of this. I’m tired of you. I’m tired of this place. I’m tired of being afraid. I’d rather you just did whatever you’re going to do then left me the hell alone.”
Tears pricked but not from grief. They were made up of pure liquid rage. I’d hoped I might avoid being this bastard’s plaything. I’d hoped that whatever strange and undeniable hum existed between us would die before he touched me again.
But…sitting there, with the pretence of lunch between us and the lapping ocean creeping higher up his shores, I couldn’t be naïve any longer.
This was an island of sex.
The chances of escaping before I had to provide such a service were slim to non-existent, but it didn’t mean I’d ever stop trying. Man after man, night after night, I would submit to this asshole’s commands because I had no choice, but I would never stop trying to reclaim my freedom.
But how could I vanish when he never stopped watching me?
How could I slip away undetected if Sully Sinclair gave in to the burning, sickening violence between us?
The truth was, I wouldn’t be able to.
If he kept taunting me like a panther with giant claws, batting me from paw to paw, constantly trying to decide if he should use me or dispatch me, I didn’t stand a chance.
One or the other had to happen.
Sex or murder.
And sooner rather than later.
He reclined in his chair, smoothing his grey tie. “An outburst like that is normally severely reprimanded.”
“How? By fucking the poor girl into submission?”
“No, by reminding her that all the luxuries and pleasantries she enjoys can be taken away, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Her villa, her food, her clothing, her very value. They can vanish in one argument, leaving her naked and alone on some forgotten part of my archipelago, dying of sun exposure and dehydration.”
“And that’s why you think you’re god, I suppose. Because you can snuff out anyone’s life so easily.”
“Precisely.” He buffed his fingernails on his blazer. His eyes flashed as if he didn’t want to admit something but was going to anyway. “I could send you out there for a day or two for a much-needed lesson. Your skin would crack from sunburn. You’d drink saltwater for a reprieve. You’d become delusional and be only too happy to fuck me when you realised how your existence is a mere speck within my hand, but…where is the revenue in that? Sunburn takes a while to heal. There are long-lasting effects of chronic dehydration. The only path for you, my wicked-tongued Jinx, is fucking me or fucking a guest. One I don’t get paid for and the other I do. I still haven’t decided which is more valuable to me yet.”
I swallowed hard.
I’d stood up to this prick. I’d talked to him without a wobble in my voice or tears in my eyes, but whatever energy the smoothie had given me was suddenly evaporated all over again. I quaked with hunger and horror. I no longer had an appetite, but I was starving.
More starving than I’d ever been in my life.
For help, for hope, for kindness.
My back remained straight as a sword, but my shoulders deflated in defeat. He’d won. He’d always win. All I had left was his generosity and continued restraint. Without another argument, I reached for a dish of bean sprouts and tempeh all stir-fried with baby mushrooms.
I stopped with a forkful of juicy mushroom on its way to being eaten. I peered at the table. At every dish and delicacy. And my hatred threaded with a tiny cord of confusion.