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)
If I resist him, I’ll lose everything that matters, and if I don’t, I’ll lose myself.
* * *
I stumble as Peter leads me up the stairs, so he lifts me into his powerful arms, carrying me up the steps with ease. His strength is both terrifying and seductive. I know what it’s like to have it turned against me, yet something primitive within me is drawn to it, attracted by the promise of safety it provides.
When we reach the bedroom, he lowers me to my feet and undresses me, pulling off my sweater and jeans in a calm, unhurried manner. Only the dark heat in his silver gaze betrays his hunger, the desire that he’ll stop at nothing to satisfy.
Once I’m naked, he undresses too, and I spot a metallic glint inside his jacket as he hangs it on a chair. A gun? A knife? The idea of him bringing weapons into the bedroom should terrify me, but I’m too overwhelmed to react, my emotions already veering from shock to anger to icy fear. And underneath it all is a strange, illogical relief.
With all my choices gone, I can give in.
It’s the only way.
A tear trickles down my cheek as he approaches me, fully naked and aroused, his large body a study of hard angles and sculpted muscles, of violent beauty and dangerous masculinity. Monsters shouldn’t look like this, shouldn’t be as mesmerizing as they’re lethal.
It’s too hard on one’s sanity.
“Don’t cry, ptichka,” he murmurs, stopping in front of me. His fingers brush across my cheeks, wiping away the moisture. “I won’t hurt you. It’s really not as bad as you think.”
Not as bad as I think? I want to laugh, but instead I just shake my head, my mind hazy both from the wine I consumed and the heat his nearness generates. He’s right: I do want him. I ache for him, my body burning with a need so strong I can scarcely contain it. And at the same time, I hate him.
I hate him for what he’s doing—and what he’s making me feel.
His fingers slide into my hair, cupping my skull, and I close my eyes as he kisses me again, his other hand gripping my hip to draw me closer to him. His erection presses against my stomach, huge and hard, but his kiss is gentle, his lips coaxing out the sensations instead of forcing them.
It feels good, so unbelievably good that for a moment, I forget I have no choice in this. My hands grip his sides, feeling the hard flex of muscle, and my lips part as the heat builds inside me. Taking advantage, he licks inside my mouth, his tongue bringing with it the dizzying taste of wine and sweet seduction. This isn’t our first time, but in this kiss, there is a sense of exploration, of sensual discovery and tender wonder.
He kisses me like I’m the most precious, most desirable thing he’s ever known.
My head spins from the bone-melting pleasure, and it’s tempting to lose myself completely, to give in to the illusion of his caring. The way he holds me speaks of raw need, but also of something deeper, something that resonates with the most vulnerable corners of my heart.
Something that fills the well of loneliness left by the ruins of my marriage.
I don’t know how long Peter kisses me like this, but by the time he lifts his head, we’re both breathing raggedly, and the heat circling through my body is a full-blown conflagration.
Dazed, I open my eyes and meet his gaze as he bears me down to the bed. There’s no coldness in the gray metallic depths, no seething darkness, nothing but that hungry tenderness, and as he settles between my thighs, covering me with his powerful body, I know it could be easy.
I could stop fighting and buy into the fantasy, embrace this darker version of the fairy tale.
“Sara…” His strong palm curves around my face, framing it with aching gentleness, and the pain that spears through my chest is as potent as it is perverse. He’s looking at me like I’m his everything, like he wants to make my every dream come true. It’s what I’ve always wanted, always needed—but not with my husband’s killer.
Gathering the crumbling pieces of my sanity, I close my eyes, shutting out the silvery lure of that hypnotic gaze. No choice, I remind myself as his lips descend on mine with another searing kiss. No choice, I chant silently as I hear the ripping of a foil packet and feel his hair-roughened legs press against the tender insides of my thighs, opening them wider to let his cock nestle against my sex. No choice, I cry out in my mind as he thrusts inside me, stretching me, filling me… making me burn with scorching need.