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)
“Why would you worry about that?” I slip my fingers between her legs and tease her wet pussy. We’re both completely naked—there’s no reason to keep clothes on around her anymore.
I want my wife stripped, bare, and eager.
“I don’t know. It seems almost—ah, that’s nice—almost unhealthy.”
“Unhealthy?” I slide two fingers deep inside of her and curl them. “Is this unhealthy?”
Her eyes roll back and she gasps. “So unhealthy,” she moans, wiggling her hips. “You’re too obsessed with it.”
“With you,” I correct and bite her nipple.
She squirms as I slide my fingers in and out and suck her other breast.
“With using me like a freaking toy.” She groans, back arching. “Seriously, Julien. You’re insatiable.”
“Would you rather I stopped?” I move my hand back and stare at her, grinning.
She glares back. “Did I say that?”
“You implied it.”
“Maybe I’m unhealthy too.” She pouts and scoots closer to me. “Keep touching.”
I laugh, kiss her, and give her what she wants.
Everything about Brianne makes me realize what I want out of life. It’s this, right here, these moments with her in bed making each other laugh, moan, and come, this is what I’ve always dreamed of. This is what all the struggle’s for.
Security. Strength. Safety. And lots of filthy fucking sex.
I love the way her mouth stretches around my thick cock. I love her little moans as she strokes me and she gasps as I tease her pussy while she sucks my tip. I love the way her tongue moves in little circles around my shaft and she licks the precum like it’s a treat. I slide myself into her throat and even though she gags and can barely make it halfway down, she tries anyway. And I fucking love that about her.
She rides me, sweat rolling down her back. She puts her hands on my chest and lets me smack her ass hard enough to turn it pink. I get her good and riled up, make her do some work, make her moan and gasp for breath, before I push her down and fuck her from behind. I love her face smashed into the mattress as she stretches around my big dick. I love how wet she gets, and the way she comes with her full body trembling and shaking, and I love how powerful that makes me feel.
I fill her and when we’re finished, I love how comfortable she gets when she curls up on my chest. Her breathing steadies and deepens, and I love that she falls asleep on top of me like it’s no big deal.
I’ve never had a relationship like this before.
Women are either with me for my money and power, or they’re terrified around me.
There’s never been this level of comfort before.
And I realize it’s because she trusts me.
Her trust means so much—it’s not easy winning over a woman like Brianne, and I feel like I’ve finally done something decent in my life, convincing her that I’m a worthwhile husband and partner.
All at once, I can see the truth.
I see who I am and who I want to be.
Brianne’s husband, her protector and lover. But also, I want to be the man that lives up to her expectations.
I want to be good enough for her.
As she sleeps, I sneak out of bed and pull on clothes. My gun is lying on the top of the dresser; I check the slide and make sure it’s loaded.
The clock says it’s slightly past midnight.
I creep down the hall to Pascal’s room. I knock twice to make sure he’s awake before I pull back the bolt.
The room’s dark. My eyes are already adjusted to the weak moonlight though. Pascal’s lying on the cot we provided, still in the same clothes, now beginning to smell ripe. He’s unshaven and disheveled. His eyes are narrowed though, and he’s still very much in control of himself.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
I stare at the old man from the doorway. Even now, even after everything, I still have respect for him.
I remember those first heady months living in his house. Life was new again. I had comforts for the first time in my life. I had food when I wanted it, clean clothes when I needed them, warm water in the shower, a roof over my head. There were couches, TVs, an entire new world to explore.
And there was Pascal Moreau, a giant in my memory, lording over all of it.
He was so powerful. I respected him—no, I loved him—and I would have done anything to make him happy.
Then the training started and I began to see another side of my Grandpère.
He was brutal and nasty. Being faster, stronger, and smarter than everyone else wasn’t enough. No matter how well I did, no matter how many tests I passed, he still demanded more.
That’s why I left. That’s why I rebuilt my life here.