Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
His face went black. Fingernails pierced my hips. “I was in fucking prison.”
Silence filled my head. White noise and confusion. “What… what for?”
He laughed, sounding manic. His hips pistoned, driving me higher and higher toward the strangest orgasm. One entwined in finding out the truth all while our bodies devoured each other.
“I was betrayed.” Bowing over me, he growled, “But it doesn’t hide my sins. I was incarcerated for murder, sweetheart. How does that makes you feel?” His green eyes flashed as he savagely thrust into me.
My pussy throbbed and bruised. I couldn’t stop my hand rising and cupping his cheek, stroking his rough face. “You’re still paying for your sins.”
He slapped my hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
He increased his tempo, quickly leaving the realm of speech and focusing on the finale. I wasn’t ready to break the link between us. Not yet.
Ask him.
Ask him the question.
Jealousy burned in my heart that this man, currently driving into me, still loved another. But hope glowed, too. I pinned all my hope from the last few days on one answer.
One answer only he could give me but I worried he never would.
Crying out as he planted his hands on either side of my body and driving fast and ruthless, I panted, “Tell me her name. What was the name of the girl you loved?”
The world ceased moving. Everything screeched to a stop.
Kill’s cock twitched inside as he just stood there like an iceberg. He grabbed my throat, hissing, “Never ask me that again. You’re not worthy of her name.”
Then his hand moved from my throat to my eyes, planting heavily over my vision. The world went dark but every instinct shot into hyperawareness.
His hips thrust harder, his cock bringing such heat and pleasure.
“I can’t stand you looking at me with her eyes. I can’t stand looking at you, period, while I’m fucking you.” His voice broke, but he smothered his agony with a growl. His pace increased, leaving sex behind and pounding straight into punishment.
I couldn’t see. His hand was hot and heavy.
I couldn’t breathe. His pace was too fast and deep.
I couldn’t fight. The pleasure was too intense and strong.
And I couldn’t stop my response to his anger pulsing between my legs.
I came.
Hard, long—spiraling down and down, darker and darker, losing myself to the muddy, desolate world of Arthur Killian.
With a roar, he spurted inside, filling me, ruining me, taking everything that I ever was.
Time passed.
I didn’t know how much—could’ve been five minutes or an hour—but Kill roused me from my sex-haze slumber as he tripped over the book on the carpet. He was fully dressed and in control again as he bent to pick it up.
Propping myself on my elbows, I didn’t care my skirt was bunched and showing my very used and exposed pussy. All I cared about was the black-shrouded vision of the man who carried so much turmoil inside.
I’m not afraid of him.
The sudden realization that I couldn’t fear someone who struggled more than me was empowering.
He turned to face me, waving the book. He cocked an eyebrow. “You were working on your IQ?”
I smiled, remembering a particularly hard mathematical question. I could’ve stared at it for the rest of my life, or been given the best calculator in the world, and still never understood how to solve it.
I didn’t even attempt to work it out. After all, he wasn’t there to fix my mistakes and erase my incorrect answers.
I scooted higher, tugging down my skirt. “I’m no good at math.”
“The answer is nine hundred and eighty-four squared.”
My mouth hung open. “You’ve memorized the answers?”
He scowled. “You think I cheated?”
I beckoned him to come closer, glancing at the page-long equation with font so small I practically needed a magnifying glass. “You took two seconds to figure it out.” I looked up into his confident gaze. “Have you done the problem before, and either remembered it or—”
His lips twisted. “Or what? I’m a genius?” He raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t sense if he was mocking me or seriously pissed off at my disbelief.
“Are you a genius?”
He dumped the book on the bed and crossed his arms. “There are a lot of theories on what makes a genius, but technically my IQ is one hundred and fifty-eight and a genius is anything over one hundred and sixty, so you could say… I’m close.”
I nodded, thrilled that he was talking to me after three days of silence. “Fascinating. Tell me the meaning of life, oh brainy one.”
His mouth twitched despite himself. “There is no meaning of life.”
I thought back to the mantra he whispered every night in his office. Tilting my head, I murmured, “I think you have a meaning—a purpose. You’re driven by it and won’t rest until it’s fulfilled.”
He took a step backward, his face going white.
I stood upright, not wanting him to leave when I was close to bulldozing down one of his walls. Something soft and cool prodded against my toes.