Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 130048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
And…it did.
I felt it.
Felt liquid heat soothing the last fiery pain he’d delivered.
Felt moisture easing his entry until the smallest threads of passion unspooled.
God, he felt so powerful, so consuming, so…real.
Sex had never felt this intense with Sam. This all-consuming. This deep.
Not that this was sex.
This was survival…for both of us. With him inside me, I didn’t have the space to feel alone or afraid or fragile.
I felt…safe.
Safe because…I’m not alone.
“I never thought. I didn’t know…” His grunted whispers drifted into nothing as he pressed his forehead to mine and sucked in a tattered breath. He groaned as I shifted my hips, seeking that perfect moment when invasion became completion, where two singles wondrously became one.
Withdrawing a little, he arched back into me.
And there it was.
The snick.
The latch.
The binding.
We felt it at the same time.
That key slipping into place.
The lock falling open.
No more pinch.
No more pain.
Only need.
Joined and connected, surrounded by filth and fear.
His eyes shot silver as he captured a tear he’d missed and moaned as it soaked onto his tongue. His hardness jerked inside me, and we stared at each other, not understanding, not able to comprehend that we could feel this, this…hunger all while surrounded by monsters from hell.
What did that say about him?
What did that say about me?
A cop and a gemmologist.
A boy and girl trapped in horrible circumstance.
Almost as if he suddenly remembered our predicament and the script we were supposed to stick to, his hips shot forward. Stabbing his canines into his lower lip, his forehead furrowed as he drove into me again and again, setting a punishing, relentless rhythm.
My breasts bounced. My ass throbbed against the pole. My cuffs clinked and chains jingled.
It all faded the more he took me. The deeper he took me.
“Christ—” His lips claimed my other cheek, lapping up every dried tear before drifting down and hovering over my mouth.
I shivered.
I tipped up my chin.
I wanted him to kiss me.
Wanted to feel that unexplainable magic between us. Wanted to fucking drown in it because who knew when I’d taste such power again.
But as his lips skated over mine, he suddenly wrenched away. His eyes flared as if he hadn’t meant to go that far before he buried his face in the hollow of my throat and bit me.
I cried out as he rode me.
Harder than I’d ever been taken.
His bunched thighs drove up and his strong arms held my weight. His washboard stomach flexed against mine with every plunge. Over and over and over.
I didn’t look behind him at the many men watching. I didn’t label myself as a whore or a slave or a jewel. For a few precious minutes, I was just Ilyana, and he was just Henri.
A man intent on devouring me.
Bruising me.
Making me his in every way.
“Christ, I never thought you’d feel like—fuck.”
Frustration built. Three times he’d started that sentence and three times he’d cut himself off.
I wanted to know.
Needed to know.
“Tell me,” I gasped into his ear as his pace increased, his cock thickening into iron. His grunts poured fuel on the decimating flames in my heart.
He froze for a second before driving painfully deep.
I worried he wouldn’t answer.
That our whispers were too dangerous, especially in full view of everyone, but then…his lips tickled my ear, sending a scattering of goosebumps. “You feel… merde, j’ai l’impression que tu es faite pour moi.” (You feel as if you were made for me.)
I sucked in a breath.
I tried to unravel the complications of that confession, but Henri lost himself.
He switched from stiffly fucking me in front of an audience to giving me everything that he was.
His hips pistoned with feral claiming.
His touch wild and animalistic.
Wedging me against the pole, he dragged one hand to my mouth and clamped his fingers over my lips. With his forehead on mine, he pressed his mouth to the back of his hand, kissing me through his gag.
And then, he let go.
Barbaric and vicious.
Over and over, again and again.
Bruising and gasping, taking and having. He used me. Claimed me. Killed me.
He didn’t last long.
His entire body went tense. Eyes snapped closed as he strained for a different kind of death.
He came.
As quickly and explosively as a firework.
Deep, deep inside me, he spurted and shuddered, coming with a guttural moan, feeding me his release, coating me in seed after only knowing me for a single night and day.
I did the only thing I could.
I accepted his marking.
Accepted this wasn’t a simple hook-up or a normal situation, but somehow, he’d given me a few moments of reprieve. With him pulsing inside me, I clung to hope that we might survive.
With a heavy groan, his climax ended.
He stayed speared inside me, frozen.
His voice twisted with remorse. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.”
He’d apologised as he’d entered me and now apologised after coming. Maybe one day, I could accept his apologies, but right now, he had nothing to apologise for.