Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
He grabs my ass and squeezes. Bites my neck. Admits that I’m right. And this really is a victory.
He seizes my hips and plows inside of me.
“Fucking Satan.”
He fucks me with hate and reverence. One minute he tells me how good it feels and the next it’s that I don’t deserve to come and I’m not a good girl and this is for him and not me.
I pout and he does the worst thing he could do to me.
He turns me around and hoists me up into his arms. Wrapping my legs around his waist and dropping me onto his cock and telling me to hold on.
We’re at eye level now.
And it’s silly of me to think he can’t hold me up with one arm and keep fucking me, because he does when I turn my face away.
He removes one hand from my ass and grabs my jaw.
“Look at me.”
I look at him. He makes me keep looking at him.
“We aren’t playing by your rules anymore,” he tells me.
“You think you’re going to boss me around and tell me what to do?”
“Aye,” he says. “I fucking am.”
I don’t answer.
It’s different, having him inside of me and watching his face this way. I could listen to his sounds all day long. The way he grunts and groans and tells me things as he plows into me. Sometimes filthy, sometimes sweet. But watching is different.
It’s intimate and raw.
“Tell me ye want my come inside of you,” he says.
And he’s already swelling. Spasming. Gripping my ass so hard it’ll bruise.
“I want your come in me.”
He yanks my body down on his and kisses me. His cock is pulsing inside of me, emptying, and he needed this.
So did I.
Nineteen
Rory
“Let’s go to my place tonight,” Scarlett suggests from the passenger seat of my car.
It’s an odd request, considering how obsessive she is about her space. But the weight of exhaustion has settled in- the one I feel whenever I do battle with Scarlett- and I can’t be bothered to make the observation.
Her building is a hole, and the more I come around, the more I hate it. Some bloke is lurking in the hallway, seedy as fuck, and he checks Scarlett out as she walks by and I tell him to fuck off.
“That’s just Ronnie,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Every building has a resident creep. Ronnie is ours.”
Ronnie isn’t the only problem I see here. The hallway smells like piss and cigarette smoke and there isn’t enough lighting and if Scarlett were being murdered, I doubt anyone would even open their door.
“I don’t like ye living here,” I tell her.
She doesn’t answer.
I want to pack her shit. I want her to come home with me and stay there. And I’ve never wanted that with anyone.
If only it were that easy with Scarlett.
I never claimed patience to be one of my virtues, but I thought I at least possessed some of it. This woman has bled it dry already.
She unlocks all six locks on her door and then looks at me because she knows I’ve got something to say about that too.
“I installed them after the butcher,” she justifies. “I don’t really need them.”
“The fuck you don’t,” I snipe.
She changes the subject.
“You were good out there tonight.”
She says this while she counts the knobs on the stove.
“You should teach me how to fight like that,” she adds.
It’s cute, how she’s so serious about it. Like it’s just that easy.
I agree anyway because I want her to start taking this seriously.
“Okay,” she says. “Want a shower?”
“Aye. Will you be joining me?”
She smiles and nods and it’s too agreeable. But again, I go with the flow… because I’m tired as fuck, and all I really want to do is bury myself between her thighs again and fuck her until my cock gives out.
Her bathroom is small, but tidy, and it smells of her perfume.
She undresses for me like a centerfold and steps beneath the hot spray.
Scarlett knows that she’s hot. But she doesn’t use it for attention. She uses it as a weapon. She’s made up of curves and softness and sex. And right now, when she’s luring me in with her eyes and her dripping wet body, I don’t even care.
I follow her to my certain doom and join her in the enclosed space. I want to pull her against me and not fuck her. I want to hold her. But she turns in my arms instead and reaches for a bottle of soap. It’s girly shit, but it doesn’t matter because she’s washing me now.
Her hands are small on my body, scrubbing me in lazy circles. She’s taking her time, and it doesn’t feel like a trick anymore, because she likes her hands on my body as much as I do. She’s possessive of me. And she tells me so in many ways.