Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He finally came over and stood in front of me. I smiled, even if he didn’t.
“Now that you have me to yourself, I thought you’d take advantage of me more often,” I flirted.
His scowl deepened. “Stop talking and open your fucking mouth.”
He unzipped with one hand and held my head with the other. As for me, I kept my lips clamped shut. He was supposed to wear a condom.
“Fucking bitch. I said open your mouth.”
He pushed me back on the bed. My arms flew up, but he wasn’t coming at me. He was taking off his clothes and ripping open a condom.
“With what I pay you, you should at least suck me off without a condom,” he said. “What the fuck kind of diseases do you think I have?”
“I don’t know. It’s company policy—”
“Shut the fuck up about company policy. Take off that fucking piece-of-shit dress and open your fucking legs.”
I didn’t know if this was more kinky games, or if he hated me, or if he was only acting like he hated me. I didn’t dare get up off the bed. I just twisted where I lay to unzip the dress I’d bought for him, which he’d so coldly dismissed as a piece of shit. I didn’t expect to get a better reception for the garter belt and stockings.
“Do you want me to take these off too?” I asked.
He climbed onto the bed between my legs and shoved my hands away from my body, and forced them over my head. He stuck his cock in me like he was sticking it in some inanimate hole. That was the level of warmth I received from my “exclusive” client. I blinked my eyes, determined not to look upset. It was really hard. He wasn’t raping me this time—he had my consent—but somehow it felt worse than being raped.
While he drilled me with absolute detachment, he fumbled at the garter belt clasps, and the tops of my stockings.
“You don’t have to wear all this shit,” he said. “All I care about is what’s between your legs.”
I tried to help him, only to have my hands pushed away.
“What the fuck did I tell you?” Two smacks on the cheek, hard enough to hurt me. I put my hands back over my head and let him struggle with the clasps. Asshole.
When he couldn’t get them open, he tore the stockings free instead, then unhooked the belt from my waist and flung it across the room. The pushup bra was next, unhooked and discarded like it was something disgusting. I guess I should have been grateful he didn’t use the scissors in his current mood.
“Are you acting like this because I wouldn’t blow you without a condom?” I said. “You’re being a dick.”
Some mayhem flashed in his gaze, to complement his cruel expression. “At least I’m not a whore.”
I didn’t know what kind of sick scene this was supposed to be, if I was supposed to go all meek and limp while he abused me. It wasn’t happening. I slapped him way harder than he’d slapped me, and it felt good to hurt him. I drew back my hand to slap him again but he arrested it midswing.
“Don’t fucking dare,” he said, taking me with steady thrusts. “You’re not in charge here. I dish it out, you take it.”
“I never agreed to that.”
“You take my money, I take your body. That’s our contract.” His fingers dug into my wrists, and the more I fought him, the harder he fucked me. “You’re so wet,” he mocked. “If you didn’t like this, you wouldn’t be here. You’ve had ample chances to say goodbye to me.”
“Chances I should have taken.”
“Simmer the fuck down or you’ll be sorry.”
I didn’t know how I could possibly feel more sorry than I felt at that moment. I felt hated and abused, and mocked. I wanted him off me, and I wanted to hurt him. I wasn’t getting anywhere trying to knee him in the groin. Women doubtless tried to do that all the time. I did manage to pry my wrist free and smack him again, square in the face.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growled. He used force and body weight to manhandle me onto my stomach. “You’re a stubborn little bitch, you know that?”
“Get off me. Get off!” He was holding me down with all his weight. I could hardly breathe, but I used the breath I had to try to buck him off me. A moment later, he hooked his right arm around my neck.
“Stop fighting,” he said. When he clenched his muscles, blood roared in my brain.
You’re the one who needs to stop, I wanted to cry. You need to stop being mean. You need to stop hurting me. I could feel his cock hard and thick between my legs. My vision blurred, from tears or panic, or lack of blood flow.