Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80602 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
A dagger tattoo is inked in the middle, dripping blood into a pool underneath it. It’s both beautiful and gruesome and so much Kyle.
The killer whose origins are unknown to all, along with the identity of who taught him to be a perfect killing machine.
The only time I allowed myself curiosity and asked him, he disappeared for seven fucking years.
I shake my head and focus on washing my hair even though my body still tingles from the orgasm he wrenched out of me.
After I’m done, I wrap a towel around my torso and another one around my hair.
While I’ve always prided myself on not being intimidated by men, Kyle obviously screwed that over like every other rule in my playbook.
I find him standing in front of the window, the morning light forming a halo around him.
He’s dressed in black pants and a white shirt. His fingers glide over the cuffs, buttoning them with firm movements. Those same fingers were inside me not too long ago and—
I try not to focus on him and busy myself by picking my dress up off the floor. He turns around that instant, and I freeze as if I’m a kid caught stealing from a jar.
“Don’t put that back on. It’s dirty and bloodied.”
“Do you suggest I go out in a towel, genius?”
“My wife wouldn’t go anywhere in a fucking towel.”
I want to curse him for the possessive way he speaks, but my insides liquefy at the way he said ‘my wife’.
Stay down, insides.
He opens a closet that I thought was filled with sheets and brings out a plain black shirt and sweatpants. “Wear these.”
I release the cloth and step in front of him. They’re a few sizes too big, but they’re better than a bloodied dress.
He holds the clothes out of reach at the last second. “Not so fast.”
I give him a bemused stare. “What?”
He grabs me by the waist and tugs so he’s sitting on the bed and I’m right between his legs.
I have no clue what’s happening until he throws the clothes behind him and opens the nightstand, producing a small gadget. “Punishment first, Princess.”
14
Rai
I stare blankly at the thing in Kyle’s hand. I didn’t see it wrong the first time.
It is a sex toy.
The shape is weird, long at one end and short at the other. I’ve always been content with my own fingers and never really used vibrators, so I have no clue what that is.
All I know is that there’s no way in hell that gadget is coming anywhere near me.
“You’re out of your damn mind if you think I will let you use that thing on me.” I try to push Kyle away, but he effortlessly keeps me trapped between his legs, using his firm grip around my waist.
“It’s the punishment you asked for, though it’s not really a punishment since it will bring you pleasure.”
“You honestly thought I would let you punish me? Me? Rai Sokolov?”
His lips tilt at the corner as strokes his finger along my side, and although his skin is separated from mine by the towel, it’s almost like he’s caressing me directly. It’s gentle but feels callous, savage, and with the intent to stimulate the deepest, darkest parts of me. It doesn’t help that I’m still terrifyingly sensitive after that orgasm.
“You do like punishment. You just don’t like to admit it. If I reached under this towel, I think I would find the evidence of how truly affected you are by the word ‘punishment’.”
Air stops moving in and out of my lungs, and I feel the asphyxiation as I tense. What if he actually checks under the towel? The last thing I want right now is to get caught in Kyle’s orbit after I’ve hardly left it.
But did I really leave if he keeps dragging me back in? If he effortlessly provokes parts of me I didn’t even realize existed?
“Don’t,” I say in my stern tone.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Are you that scared of your body betraying you?”
“I just don’t want your filthy hands on me.”
His jaw ticks as his hold tightens around my waist to the point of inflicting pain. In a fraction of a second, his mood goes from semi-light to full-on severe. “You came like a slut by these filthy hands, Princess. So how about you drop the high-and-mighty attitude?”
“You agreed to marry me, flaws and all, so you kind of have to accept me the way I am.”
“As do you—filthy hands and all.”
We stare at each other for mere fractions of a second that seem like years and decades. I didn’t mean it as a jab against his origins. It’s a defense mechanism of mine so I can create distance between us—though it’s an epic fail thus far.
In so little time, Kyle managed to get so close to parts of me I’ve been diligently hiding from the world, and that’s dangerous. Actually, it’s more than dangerous. It can destroy what I’ve been building for long, painful years.