Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
She said nothing, her mouth so dry she couldn’t even swallow.
“Gun play is just another kind of edge play,” he continued, getting to his feet. “There are whole sites devoted to it. I’ve always wanted to try it, but not for play. For real.”
He was shirtless, a pair of faded jeans molded perfectly to his long, muscular legs, his feet bare. He tossed his shiny hair with a shake of his head and flashed a dimpled smile. “Every girl has a secret rape fantasy. Don’t bother denying it.” He walked toward her.
She remained still as a rabbit, unable to move.
He stopped in front of her, the gun again pointed directly at her. “Here’s the scenario. You’re a good girl—a virgin, saving yourself for your Prince Charming. But you’re a secret slut, too. You flirt shamelessly with the boss at work, flashing a bare thigh, or a view of your tits all pressed up together in your sheer blouse as you put a report on his desk. You’re a prick tease, a dirty little whore who plays with herself alone in her bed while imagining your big, sexy boss finally having his way with you. But when he actually responds in kind, pushing you against the wall in his office to give you the kiss you’ve practically been begging for, you wriggle away and protest you’re not that kind of girl.
“After repeating this cat and mouse game for months, he’s had enough. One day, he comes to your apartment. He’s pissed, and he’s got a gun. You have no choice. You must submit or else…”
“Please,” Callie begged, her voice breaking on a sob. “You’re really scaring me.”
“Good. You should be scared.”
His words slid like ice cubes along her spine.
Using the gun as a pointer, he waved toward the ground. “Get on your knees, cunt. Make my dick hard.”
Her mind had short-circuited. Sinking to her knees, she reached for his fly. She managed to undo the metal button and tug down the zipper with trembling fingers. She pulled his semi-erect cock from the denim, her hands shaking so hard she could barely get hold of it.
“Relax,” he said with a cruel chuckle. “You’d think I had a gun to your head.” The chuckle segued into a laugh. “Oh, wait.” He touched the cold muzzle to her forehead. “I do.”
All at once, her bladder let go, a rush of urine spurting between her legs.
His laughter stopped abruptly. “What the fuck? You stupid cunt, you peed on the rug. I thought you learned that lesson back on the cot.”
To her vast relief, he took a step back, the gun no longer touching her skin. She heard the soft snick as he put the safety back on. A reprieve, at least for the moment.
“Take off your apron and use it to sop up that mess. Now.”
Reaching back, Callie fumbled with the bow at her back. Her fingers refused to cooperate. Try as she might, she couldn’t catch hold of the sash.
With a snort of disgust, Damon reached down and plucked the bow. As the apron fell from her body, he grabbed it and used it to roughly wipe between her legs. Dropping it, he kicked it over the wet spot on the rug and stepped on it. “You can clean up properly later.”
She clung to his words. In order to clean up later, she had to be alive. He wasn’t going to kill her. He was just doing a mind fuck—the worst possible kind.
Just get through this, she counseled herself urgently. Keep it together.
He reached for her arm, hauling her upright. One of her shoes fell off in the process. His free hand on the back of her neck, he propelled her toward the adjacent sofa and threw her down onto her back on the cushions.
Keeping the gun in one hand, he dragged his unzipped jeans down and kicked them away. Then he straddled her chest. Using his free hand, he gripped his erect shaft and pushed the spongy head against her lips.
Not daring to resist, she opened her mouth. He pushed his cock inside, not stopping until it was lodged at the back of her throat, his balls touching her chin. He didn’t seem to notice or care that she was choking as he thrust repeatedly into her throat.
She tried to zone out—to leave her body as she sometimes managed to do when enduring one of his endless torture sessions—but it was no use. That gun, still held loosely in his hand, kept her totally in the moment.
To her relief, he finally pulled back, his cock shiny with her spit as it left her mouth. He momentarily rolled off her, getting to his feet. But then he was back, this time draping his hard body over hers. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee.