Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 184867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 924(@200wpm)___ 739(@250wpm)___ 616(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 184867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 924(@200wpm)___ 739(@250wpm)___ 616(@300wpm)
“Titillation?” I squeak. “This feels more like, like…”
My train of thought is interrupted by each twist he applies, as it’s sending currents of arousal through my body.
What is happening? Why am I letting him do this to me?
“Like you want to submit?” he says.
He pulls his hand out, only to slide it down my dress and creep in underneath. Within seconds, he’s reached my panties, and he slides them aside with ease.
“Have you ever been touched by a god?”
“What?” I mutter, confused.
But then his fingers slide across my slit, and I’m as much at a loss of words as I am at a loss of my thoughts.
Ares actually slides his fingers underneath my dress.
Right in front of everyone on this terrace.
“Wait,” I mutter, feeling delirious with need.
But he doesn’t stop. “Why? Afraid someone will see you squirm from my fingers?”
Shit. He’s trying to get me to feel the fear. I won’t let him.
He swirls his fingers around like he knows exactly what he’s doing, carefully avoiding the most sensitive spot like he wants to coax the pleasure out of me. And something about that makes me clench the knife in my pocket so harshly I worry the handle might break.
“I know you’re thinking of using that knife on me. It won’t stop me.”
What? How does he know?
“I can feel your hand tensing around the handle.”
I immediately loosen my grip.
“And I will definitely use it against you if you try.”
“How?”
His knife pokes into my belly. “You bringing a knife here makes for an awfully good story when people suddenly find you stabbed, wouldn’t it?”
I stay frozen to the floor, unsure what to do. But his fingers, good God, those fingers will be the death of me before his blade ever punctures my skin.
He swirls around, wetness pooling between my legs as I struggle not to moan. But he’s listening, waiting for the moment I cave in, and I don’t want to give it to him. All I can do is accept and let the pleasure slowly take over while my mind spins in circles, trying to make sense of all this hatred and lust mixing into one.
I can’t call for help. If he hears so much as a single word, he’ll kill me just like he did those men and use his charms to persuade people it was all self-inflicted.
He slides back and forth, stopping right before he hits the most sensitive tip, almost like he’s avoiding it on purpose, and I’m on the edge of just begging him to do it.
What is wrong with me?
“Go on, then … make a sound. I dare you,” he whispers, turning up the heat, fingers splaying before they dive straight in.
I gasp in shock when he enters me, feeling me up. Not just because of his sudden invasion but also because of the wetness that pours out of me.
“You’re so wet for me already,” he says, grinning against my skin. “You don’t stand a chance.”
“Fuck you,” I grit, trying to ignore the lust flooding my mind.
“Are you angry with me?” he muses, thrusting in a finger and keeping it there as if to remind me of the fact that he can do anything he wants to me as long as his knife pokes into my skin. “Or angry at how good it feels when I play with you?”
“You want me to hate you?” I hiss through my teeth. “Job done.”
A low, rumbling laugh emanates from deep within his chest.
“You think I will settle for that?” he groans, circling around inside me. “Oh no, I want you on your knees, begging for a break from the terror I will instill in your heart at the thought of being owned by me.”
He thrusts in another finger, making me swallow a mewl, and I clutch the banister of the terrace with both hands now to keep steady so I don’t fall.
“I refuse,” I mutter, as he keeps on filling me with his fingers until I’m dizzy with mounting arousal. “I will never give you what you want.”
He pulls out his fingers, leaving me bereft, wanting something I shouldn’t.
His fingers slide up and down achingly slow, lulling me into complacency with his groans close to my ear as his body leans into mine. He hardens against me. He’s thick and long as he prods into my ass, and I can’t ever imagine him being inside me.
“I beg to differ, Ambrosía,” he groans.
Ambrosía? What does that even mean?
I can’t focus on his words because of what he’s doing to me.
Right as the pad of his thumb touches my nub, his lips cover the wound on my shoulder, and he bites down again, his teeth even more painful than before. I can’t differentiate between the mounting pain and the aching pleasure between my legs as he slowly circles around, making me want to squeeze my legs together.