Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
When I peered up, I saw that he was no longer being introspective, he was focused wholly on me.
“Kahlil Gibran,” Colby murmured.
I vaguely remembered the name from a philosophy class, though I did not recognize the quote. It struck me nonetheless.
“I appreciate the gift you gave me,” Colby continued, fingers traveling closer to my midsection.
I stiffened, but he didn’t go all the way to my scars.
“I’ve been with women,” I informed him, changing the subject because I really wasn’t ready to talk about this right now.
“I know,” he said.
I focused on my breathing, waiting for him to elaborate.
“We did surveillance on Violet, on you,” he cleared his throat. “I know you’ve been with women.”
I sucked my teeth. Of course. Now that the Sons’ hacker had delved into every area of my life, there was nothing Colby didn’t know about me. “Okay, so if we do this—”
“We’re doing this,” Colby interrupted.
I sighed in exasperation. “If we do this, are you going to request a threesome with another woman?”
His gaze went stormy. “No fuckin’ way. No one else touches what’s mine except me.”
“Okay, so no threesomes.” I wanted to grin or roll my eyes at the way he went from zero to over-the-top protective caveman in milliseconds. “But other guys have thought, at the beginning at least, it was hot that I am attracted to both men and women. But eventually, it becomes a problem.”
Men loved the idea of women together when it was a performance for them. But when it was clear that women did it for their own pleasure and not for them, they became far too threatened. Too suspicious of every friend. Jealous of everyone.
“I’m not other guys,” Colby grumbled. “And I don’t have a problem with who you used to be attracted to. As long as you’re mine.”
I groaned. “We’ll talk about the whole ‘you are mine’ thing later.”
“Talk about it all you want, it’s not gonna change it,” he replied stubbornly.
I scowled at him. “I’m too tired to argue with you.”
His lips spread into an infuriatingly dazzling smile. “Well, go to sleep, then.”
“Your cock isn’t inside me, so you don’t get to give me orders,” I fired back.
He flipped us seconds after I’d got the last word out. My panties were gone, his cock freed and poised at my entrance after only a few seconds more. I blinked at him, trying to get my bearings, my body way ahead of me, pussy primed and ready for him.
“Again?” I breathed.
He showed his teeth in a wicked smirk. “I’m a young man, poppet, and I’m a man who has you in his bed. I’d have to be dead not to be ready to fuck you.”
My skin tingled in anticipation.
Colby didn’t wait for me to say anything else, he just slammed into me, covering my mouth with his hand to muffle my cry from the unexpected pleasure.
“You. Are. Mine.” He growled with every thrust.
My body submitted to him, my eyes holding steady with his. I didn’t argue, mostly because of the hand on my mouth but also because I couldn’t argue. He was claiming every inch of me. The truth was, he’d claimed every inch of me the second our mouths had touched in that hospital a million years ago.
“Say it,” he rasped, eyes wide and wild.
I moaned from beneath his hands, my orgasm hurtling forward.
“Say it,” he repeated, removing his hand.
Though I was almost entirely mad with pleasure, I managed one harsh look and kept my lips sealed shut. Until he rammed into me so forcefully, it teetered on the cusp of pain. I fucking loved it.
“I’m yours,” I exclaimed, right before my orgasm washed over me.
Colby was still asleep when I woke up. It was early. Really early. Though he wasn’t the kind of guy to sleep in, we hadn’t established much of a routine these past weeks. I think it was as much of a vacation from reality for him as it was for me.
For once in two years, he wasn’t chasing me, wondering what I was doing with myself. I hadn’t considered how much of a toll that would’ve taken on him, how it might’ve exhausted him.
Not until I woke that morning, in my childhood bedroom, with the dim morning light filtering through the lace curtains.
He was lying half on top of me, as he did every night. I couldn’t move in the night without him feeling it, without him waking from my nightmare with me. But I hadn’t had a nightmare last night, hadn’t broken his sleep. He looked younger when he was asleep. More his age. He was only a year older than me, but I’d never considered him as a peer, not in that way. He’d always seemed older, wiser. Which made sense since trauma aged us. I was lucky it only happened on the inside, otherwise I would’ve looked two hundred years old.