Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“Look at you,” he breathes in my ear, and I tear my eyes away from his hypnotic gaze to focus on the picture we’re presenting: him so big and lethally handsome, and me small and feminine, almost fragile in his dark embrace. “Look at how pretty you are, how sweet and soft and pure. That smooth skin of yours, so thin and delicate, so easily bruised…” He caresses my throat as I swallow, my pulse accelerating even more at his words.
“You know what I wonder sometimes?” he continues softly, and I grip the edge of the counter as his hard fingers pinch my nipple, twisting it with cruel purposefulness. “I wonder if I should put a chain around this pretty neck, lock you to me and throw away the key. Would you cry then, ptichka? Would you rage?” He nips at my earlobe, his white teeth scraping across my skin as his hand moves down from my breast to cup my sex. “Or would you secretly like it?”
I suck in a breath, trembling, so hot I could burst into flames. The picture he’s painting is both terrifying and arousing, as darkly erotic as the image in the mirror. With his arms around me, I can smell the leather of his jacket, feel the metallic zipper against my back, and a sense of acute vulnerability washes over me as his fingers part my wet folds and touch my clit, the sharp lash of pleasure exacerbating the feeling of helplessness, of being completely out of control.
“Please.” My voice shakes. “Please, Peter…”
“Please what?” His fingers push in and hook inside me, pressing against my G-spot as his teeth graze across my neck again. “Please what, ptichka? Please touch me? Please fuck me? Please go away?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Please fuck me.” I’m past embarrassment, past denial. It feels like every cell in my body is pulsing with need, burning with the dark craving he awakens in me. Maybe under different circumstances, I’d stay strong, try to hold on to whatever passes for dignity, but I’m too exhausted—and too aware that this might be it.
Tonight might be our last time together.
“Open your eyes,” he growls, and I dazedly obey, fighting the drugging pull of pleasure.
Peter’s gaze is dark and intense in the mirror, his face taut with violent need. And underneath, I sense that unsettling something, that softness I can’t quite define.
“Tell me, Sara. Tell me how you want me to fuck you. Do you want it rough”—his fingers thrust viciously into me—“or gentle? Hard”—he grinds the heel of his palm on my sex—“or soft?” Tempering the pressure, he lowers his head to lick my earlobe, his warm breath heating my skin as he rasps into my ear, “Do you want flowers and pretty words, ptichka? Or would you rather have something raw and real, even if society deems it wrong… even if it’s not what you’ve always wanted?”
My breath hisses raggedly through my teeth as his thumb circles my clit, the heat thrumming under my skin making it hard to think. My inner muscles tighten around those rough, invading fingers, and I don’t understand what he’s asking, what he wants from me. I need more of that pain-edged pleasure, and at the same time, I need relief from the tension winding me tighter and tighter.
“Peter, please…” My heart is racing much too fast. “Oh God, please…”
His grip on my neck tightens as his fingers curl inside me, pressing against my G-spot again. “Tell me, and I’ll fuck you.” His teeth scrape across my neck, making me shudder from the sensation. “I’ll give it to you exactly how you want it, fill your tight little pussy until you’re begging for more. Tell me what you need from me, and I’ll give it to you, Sara. I’ll give you everything and more.”
“Hard,” I gasp out, my hands slipping off the countertop edge to grip the steely columns of his jean-clad thighs. My sex clenches around his fingers as I press my pelvis against his hand, desperate for firmer pressure on my clit. I don’t know what I’m saying, but I do know what I need. “Fuck me hard, Peter. Please…”
His jaw tightens, and I catch a glimpse of the darkness in the gray shimmer of his eyes. Abruptly, he releases me and sweeps his hand over the countertop, knocking off the toiletries. Spinning me around, he picks me up and sets me down on the cold granite, thighs spread wide. I blink at him, startled, but he’s already unzipping his jeans and pulling me forward until my ass nearly hangs off the edge.
“Peter—oh God.” I gasp as he spears into me, so thick and hard it feels like he’s bruising my insides. He hasn’t been this rough since our first time, but I’m so wet today the violent claiming doesn’t scare me, the threat of pain only adding to the pleasure. Instead of clamping up, I remain pliant and soft around his cock, and as he sets a hard, driving rhythm, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my ass, I wrap my legs around his hips and wind my arms around his neck, clinging to him like he’s my anchor in a storm. And he might as well be. He fucks me with such fury I feel like a sliver in a hurricane, overwhelmed by his violence, tossed about by the waves of his lust. It’s too much, too intense, but the helpless feeling only adds to the tension twisting inside me. With a scream, I come, clenching around him, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going until I come again, and then once more.