Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“You already lost me.” I twisted my hand, sliding it through my slickness. “If you don’t give me the compass, I’ll finish myself off. Then I’ll call your brother down here and let him fill me over and over until I finish again.”
His low menacing growl brought my head up.
He captured my eyes. “It doesn’t matter how far we fall, how much pain we inflict, or how dark it becomes in the ruin. I’m going to be with you, waiting for you, loving you, forgiving you. I’m never letting go, Bennett. Never.”
My fingers faltered with the hitch of my breath.
When he said things like that, I wanted so badly to believe him. But no words—no matter how achingly profound—could change the past.
“You hurt me.” My voice splintered. “Unforgivably.”
His chin descended to his chest, magnifying the slopes of his proud shoulders as he regarded me from beneath the intensity of his brow.
I was losing my nerve, my arousal, the desire to torture him.
My thoughts had never been so contorted, my tongue so knotted. Dear lord, it was a good thing none of my crew bore witness to my lapse in cruelty. They wouldn’t understand.
“Give me her name.” Needles stung the backs of my eyes.
“No.”
My heart galloped fiercely, but I would not cry.
When it came to secrets, Priest was an impenetrable steel cage. He’d kept his mouth shut about our marriage, and despite my threats, he continued to protect his anonymous lover. He would never break his silence.
“Tell me about the burn scars on your leg,” I said.
“No. Don’t ask again.”
Another secret.
I closed my eyes and curled my fingers, cupping the heat in the valley of my thighs, teetering on the verge of giving up. Sitting here, completely exposed with my legs open… I felt sick.
This wasn’t me. I tortured evil men. Killed monsters without hesitation or regret. But I’d never been a tease. When I offered myself, I followed through on that promise. Anything less was weak.
“Bennett.” His Welsh cadence caressed my bare skin, making me shiver. “Look at me.”
My lashes felt too heavy to lift, but I opened my eyes, not surprised to find the churning storm in his.
How foolish was I to underestimate him? There were no answers in his intractable gaze, no hint of surrender beyond the next thought. There was only this moment and an offer of punishment and pleasure.
“Hurt me.” His eyes gleamed with the command. “Touch yourself. Do it knowing I would die to be your hands, to slide through all that wetness, to experience the heat of your orgasm, to feel it gripping and sucking for more.” He wet his lips. “To hold me at arm’s length and deny me your love… It’s the worst torture.”
“Worse than watching me with another man?”
“Same thing.” He let his gaze drift downward, absorbing every curve and indentation of my body, lingering so long in places I could have sworn my skin caught fire. “Whether you’re alone or with another, the result is the same. You’re not with me.”
Silence fell around us, shutting out the world and suspending us in a volatile cocoon.
He remained on his knees, head down, watching me through his lashes. His fists squeezed on his thighs, the inflammation turning his fingers dark red and swollen.
“Go on,” he breathed into the hush. “Punish me. Finger that beautiful cunt. Show me what you think I lost.”
It wasn’t his words that stirred my hand into motion. It was the turbulent look in his eyes. The challenge. Did I have it in me to touch myself without touching him? Could he sit there and watch without losing control?
I went for it. Spreading my legs, my fingers digging into my flesh, I drove my strokes up inside, using him—the glorious view of his body, the memory of our lovemaking, the pained look on his face. I used him for my own pleasure. He was the muse that inspired the languorous burning in my veins, the uncontrollable trembling in my thighs, and the moans singing past my lips.
Sinews tensed in his neck. Muscles bounced in his jaw. His mouth opened on the surge of his breaths, but otherwise, he remained still. Behaving himself.
His self-restraint only further aroused me, and when I finally reached that peak of venereal excitement, I cried out, twitching from head to toe and squirting all over my hand.
I caught myself before I toppled off the cask and sucked in great gulps of air.
His breaths continued to hiss past gnashed teeth, his hands white-knuckled on his lap, and his full attention locked on my dripping swollen cunt.
As the tingling remnants of orgasm faded, the crushing need to feel him inside me didn’t abate. Nothing would ever compare to what I’d once had with Priest Farrell.
My legs wobbled as I stepped to the water bucket and washed my hands and thighs. He didn’t speak, but I felt his gaze caressing the lines of my back.