Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“We shouldn’t,” I say as he kisses me. “You kidnapped your grandfather.”
“Yes, I most definitely did.”
“People saw you.”
“Yes, and I suspect they’ll give my description to the cops.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
He laughs and bites my lower lip. “Not at all.”
I sigh as he pulls my shirt off and kisses my chest. I give in to him, to his touch, as his mouth finds my breasts and licks my stiff nipples.
It’s a release unlike anything I’ve felt before as I shimmy out of my pants and he pins me down onto the couch. His mouth finds my pussy and he licks me deep, groaning like he’s the one getting pleasured. All my worries fade, all my adrenaline peaks, and it’s like my nervous system has been primed for this exact moment.
I come on his mouth in seconds. It’s actually kind of pathetic.
But he fucking loves it. He laps me up and spreads my legs and plunges himself inside of me. He takes me like a beast, fucking me fast and kissing my mouth, making me taste my own pussy on his tongue.
“All of this is for you, baby,” he growls in my ear. “Every inch of my hard cock. Every stroke of my hips. Every orgasm. Every dollar. Every drop of fucking blood. It’s all for you.”
“Oh, god,” I gasp, grinding into him. We fuck in a frenzy, in a flurry. “I’m yours, Julien. I’m yours. All of me, I’m yours.”
“That’s right, baby, every inch of your delicious skin. Your lips, your pussy, your moans, every time you fucking come, you’re all mine.”
My brain’s a mess of bliss and I don’t care about anything but Julien filling me to the brim. I gasp, back arching, nipples dragging against his chest, as I come again for him, coming into a messy puddle of ecstasy and joy, and he’s not far behind. He fills me to the brim, and we’re a wreck together, two fucked-up people lying entwined on the couch while a man’s lying captive and barely alive in a room down the hall.
I think about what Valentina said to me. About making each other’s flaws better.
I don’t know if Julien’s making me good—but whatever I am, I definitely feel something for the first time in my life.
Maybe bad is enough.
Pascal stares at me as I enter the room. “Water and food,” I say, carrying the tray over.
He’s lying on the bed. The sheets are stained with his blood. His skin is pale and waxy, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. I wonder if he’s got an infection or if this is just a part of healing from serious trauma at his age.
“He’s too much of a coward to come in here himself,” Pascal says. He stares at the glass I offer him.
“Drink.” I hold it out.
He reluctantly takes it. His hands are still bound, but at least they’re in front of him now. He sips the water, then drinks the full glass.
I take it from him.
“I have to check your wound,” I say and study him. “Are you going to make this difficult?”
He holds his arms out. “Be my guest.”
I unwrap the bandages as gently as I can. The stitching looks good, and there’s nothing to indicate an infection. No redness, no swelling, at least not more than there was when he first showed up. I put on fresh gauze and get it wrapped again. All the while, Pascal studies me with a disconcerting stare.
“He could have been great, you know,” he says once I’m finished.
I put the tray down on his bed. “Peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I can get you crackers too.”
He ignores the food. “I saw something in him. That’s why I took him from the streets. But now it’s like he chose to waste himself in this fucking place, instead of ruling all of France at my side.”
“You should eat.” I turn away.
“You’re not enough,” he says loudly. I stop, even though I know I shouldn’t. “Julien’s ambitious. You might seem good for now. You’re pretty, I can see it. Young, attractive, perhaps even slightly clever. But you won’t be enough eventually. He’ll cheat, like they all do. He’ll take mistresses, he’ll want more. You’re not enough.”
“Maybe not, but it’s my mistake to make.”
“Don’t be a fool, girl. You’re just some victim. You’re a pretty face and a warm pussy, but you are nothing. You must see that. He pities you. He feels bad for you. Poor, pathetic, pretty little Irish girl. He’s using you, and when he’s done, he’ll toss you aside. Don’t be stupid.”
I turn on him. I know he’s baiting me, but I can’t help it.
I’m tired of letting men like him talk to me that way. I took it from my father when I shouldn’t have. I even took it from Cormac.