Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
“You’re taking me so well, Mouse. Such a good little whore for me. Tell me, Mouse, does it feel good being fucked like a slut in the forest by a stranger?”
Her breath hitches, and she squeaks a small “Yes.”
“What are you, Mouse?”
“Horny.”
I chuckle at her smart mouth and yank her head back. Her mouth parts at the assault, and I spit, watching the trail of saliva fall from my mouth to hers. “You can do better than that, slut. I want you to tell me exactly what you are.”
“I am a dirty little whore who wants you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk for days. I want to feel your cock in my tight pussy, to know how you violated me.”
The animal rages inside me, taking hold. Pushing her head down on the bark, I fuck her like she means nothing and represents everything. The two dueling sensations of madness and possessiveness wrap around me. My fingers move along her clit as I fuck her with wild abandon, longing to fill her with my cum.
“I’m going to fill you with my cum, Mouse. Fuck you hard and fast, and fill this pussy with my cum.”
“Please,” she pants.
“Please, what, Mouse? Use your words.”
“Please fuck me hard.”
Those words are all I need to hear. I hold her head down, making it hard for her to move without scraping her skin. Her hands brace on the tree as I hold one leg and fuck her like she’s only there for my pleasure. This is what she wants, to be used, to be owned, and I’m the man to do it.
But even with the brutality of my thrusts and knowing she’ll have brutal marks covering her body, I realize that this one taste won’t be enough. A lifetime with my little mouse won’t be enough. I want to keep a woman for the first time in my life, and the knowledge has me grunting and releasing my cum deep within her pussy.
“Fuck.” My ragged breath takes hold of my heart and lungs, and my head falls on top of hers. Her shampoo smells like lavender and honey, and I want to wrap her scent around me like a warm blanket.
I don’t know what kind of magic pussy this girl has, but she’s got me thinking of flowers and cuddling. None of that nonsense is who I am or who I want to be. I close my eyes as I try to savor the moment, knowing I’ll never have it again, even though I want to.
Chapter Eight
Bree
I gaze at the bruises covering my body in the mirror of the locker room. I’m not the only one battered and bloody—all the women seem to be. Some more than others, but no one has as many scrapes and cuts along their flesh as me. Apparently, I attracted the craziest man of them all. But this man, though volatile, unleashed something impossible. He made me feel.
Standing in front of the fogged-up mirror, I see the slashes of nails, teeth marks, and tree bark—reminders of my deviance on my skin. My fingers trail the various marks on my flesh. Relief runs through me when I remember I brought loose jogging pants and an oversized black hoodie. Anything tight touching my skin would hurt like hell. I need to treat these when I get home because some of them are deep and look rough.
I tie up my wet hair in a messy bun and grab my duffle bag, shuffling out of the locker room. Casting my head down, I avoid looking directly at anyone walking by. Making eye contact with anyone who might suspect what I did in the forest makes me uncomfortable. I don’t understand why I’m sheepish about what I did—this place is created for it. But shame washes over me at the knowledge of what I like. I fucked a murderer, and my morals went right out the window. Sure, Ted was a criminal—well, I don’t know for sure, but the way his sleazy self kept coming on to me, it was pretty evident the guy couldn’t take no for an answer. Although, killing him is worse. Or maybe it isn’t. I’m not going to feel bad about guys like him getting what they deserve.
“Hey, sweetheart.” I look up to see the pretty waitress from earlier and can’t help returning her warm, sweet smile. Her eyes work their way along my exposed neck and face. “Looks like you had a little too much fun, huh?” Her hands move to her pocket, and she pulls out a small cylinder-shaped container of cream before handing it to me. “Put this on all your cuts and scrapes. It will help them heal better.”
I take the small container and turn it in my hand. “What is it?”
“It’s like polysporin, only much stronger.”