Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“That’s right,” he grunts, his breath coming faster. “Take it. Take every bit of it. Let yourself feel good,” he urges, and I whimper in agreement before the pressure of one of his fingers against my entrance makes my eyes pop open wide.
“Oh, my god!” I gasp in the heartbeat before he pushes in, entering me, filling me with one, then two of his thick digits.
I’m lost, completely lost, totally in his grasp. My body is singing, and he is the conductor, controlling every moan, every delicious sensation. My nerves dance and sizzle as my hips start to move on their own, lifting to meet every stroke. “Oh, yeah,” he whispers, urging me on. “Fuck yourself on my fingers. Make yourself come. Come for me so I can come for you.”
I don’t think I have a choice. It’s all too much, building until it’s bigger than me, stronger, enough that I’m afraid it will drown me. I hope it does. I could die this way, gripped by unspeakable pleasure. Finally feeling. Enjoying. Being in the moment.
“I’m…” I can barely pull in enough breath to speak, but I need to. I need to tell him, even as my hips jerk in warning. “I’m going… to come… oh, god!” I moan helplessly, my head rolling from side to side, my hands sliding over my silky comforter. It feels so good. I forgot I could feel this good.
And then it all reaches its highest point, my body tensing in the last moments before the wave crashes, and I shatter from the inside out, falling to pieces around his fingers. My muscles flutter and fresh wetness pours from me as I cry out, filling the room with the sound until my voice breaks.
“Fuck, yeah,” he grunts, sliding his fingers from me, his breath rapid, his voice raspy. “Yeah. Here it comes…”
I open my eyes in time to watch cum spurt from his tip and spill onto the scars on my inner thigh. He seems to aim for them, painting my skin with one spurt after another while he groans deeply.
By the time he’s finished, he’s trembling, but then so am I. Trembling and confused and elated. It’s like he unlocked something in me, and I don’t want it to get locked up again. I don’t want to lose it.
But already, as the sensations fade, so does the clarity he brought. I knew it couldn’t last forever.
“Happy birthday,” he murmurs without looking me in the eye, his breathing still a little shaky as he places himself back in his shorts and raises his zipper. “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t wait around to clean you up. I’ve got to go.” He offers no further explanation, but then I don’t ask for one.
Because I don’t know what to say. Is there anything I could say, anyway? All I can do for the moment is lie here and stare at the ceiling, trying to make sense of what just happened. The fact that he watched me cut myself and wasn’t repulsed. No, he was aroused. He liked it. As the front door closes with a resounding bang that echoes through the foyer, I sit up and look down at the mess he made of my thigh, which was already a mess, anyway.
But for the first time in a long time, I can almost believe the scars that are so ugly—a symbol of my weakness, my disconnect, my unresolved pain—might not be so ugly, after all.
11
TUCKER
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Pounding my hand against the steering wheel until it hurts isn’t enough. I deserve to hurt worse than that for being so fucking stupid. Whatever twisted chemistry exists between us is starting to force me into shitty decisions, like the one I made back at Maya’s.
Because I liked it. Way too much. Watching her hurt herself, knowing she couldn’t help but do what I said. There is something addictive about knowing I can make her do whatever I want, whenever I feel like it. She’s lucky I’m not more of a sadistic bastard than I already am. The things I could force her into. The ways I could make her suffer.
Pulling a few deep, ragged breaths doesn’t help calm the raging inferno in my gut. My foot gets heavier, pressing the pedal, sending me rocketing down the road and through a light that’s just turned red. Usually, coming at least calms me down. It clears my head so I can think.
The opposite is true right now—I’m as conflicted as I’ve ever been, furious with myself, disappointed. Nothing good will come from spending too much time with her. She inspires every dark, twisted impulse I possess. I need to leave her alone.
I’ve learned that lesson, or I should have by now. She already made sure I understood how things would be for us. She took me from feeling on top of the world to knowing I was nothing to her.