Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“I love it. It’s beautiful.” She sniffed. “You’re going to make me cry.”
I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her temple. “No crying. It’s no big deal. I was on a walk today and saw it, and it made me think of you.”
“It’s perfect.” She placed her arms over mine and squeezed. “I’ll wear it all the time.”
“I’m happy you like it. It reminded me of your tattoo.”
She looked down at her arm. “I love this tattoo. It was my first one.”
“Yeah? What does it mean to you?”
“I’ve always liked the symbolism of the lotus flower—rebirth, resurrection, revival. Its roots are in the mud at the bottom of ponds or rivers, and its petals emerge above the water. Every night they close up and duck beneath the surface, and every morning they rise up and open again. I got it at a time in my life when I needed to be reminded of my capacity for resilience. The lotus flower never gives up. It gives me strength when I need it.” She twisted in my arms so that she faced me, her arms going around my neck. “Thank you. Not just for the necklace, but for coming here, for spending time with me.” Rising up on her toes, she pressed her lips to mine.
Tell her, I thought as I slanted my mouth over hers and slid my hands down over her ass. Tell her, I thought as I walked backward toward the bed, bringing her with me. Tell her, I thought as I turned her around, laid her back on the bed, and lifted up the long white dress.
But I didn’t. Instead I knelt down between her legs, pushed her white lace underwear aside, and devoured her like a starving man, her hands fisted in my hair, her hips bucking beneath me. After she came, she begged me for more, and I couldn’t stop myself from fucking her in that pretty white dress, her legs over my shoulders, her honey-colored hair spilling over the blankets, her fingers clawing the sheets.
With my hands wrapped tightly around her calves, I was rough with her, like I was trying to show her the truth about myself, so rough I hoped she’d plead with me to slow down. Tell me I was hurting her. Push me away. I wanted her to hate me like I hated myself.
But she didn’t. She moaned and gasped and turned her face to the side, throwing her hands over her head, her angelic features contorted with pain or pleasure or both, and I rammed my cock deeper inside her, making her cry out with every vicious thrust, but she never asked me to stop. And it felt good, indulging the villain inside me—wicked and sexy and selfish and greedy and powerful, so powerful I was drunk with it.
I let go of her legs and leaned forward, pinning her wrists to the bed with one hand and taking her beneath the jaw with the other. “Look at me,” I demanded, forcing her head in my direction. “I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see who I am. I want you to know exactly who you think you love.”
She tried to say something and I stopped her by sliding my palm up over her mouth. I didn’t want to hear her tell me she loved me. She couldn’t possibly. Not now and not ever. I wouldn’t accept it. “Shh,” I told her, driven even closer to the edge by her helplessness, by my audacity. “Just watch. And feel. How hard you make me. How wet you are. How deep I am.”
Her fingers curled into fists and she whimpered beneath my hand, but she did as I asked, and the prolonged eye contact as I pounded mercilessly into her body sent me hurtling toward ecstasy. The muscles in my lower body tightened as unimaginable heat unfurled inside me. It was lust and anger and need. It was lies and truth, past and present, betrayal and devotion. It was love and it was hate and it was rushing, rushing, surging, cresting, erupting over and over again as my body stiffened and I poured myself into her in hot, uncontrollable bursts.
When it was over, I took my hands off her and braced them on the bed above her shoulders. I could hardly believe I was still standing. “Fuck,” I said, closing my eyes. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d hit me. “I’m sorry, Maren.”
“Why are you sorry?”
I opened my eyes. “I was rough with you. It was selfish.”
“Did it seem like I wasn’t enjoying it?”
“I have no idea. I was only thinking about myself.”
She shook her head. “No, you weren’t. You were watching me the whole time.”
“I shouldn’t have put my hand over your mouth. You could have been trying to say no.”