Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
I even wanted to leave love bites on her throat so every fucker in this town knew she was mine. I wanted to ruin her softness, wanted to tear the innocence out of her and take it for myself. The hunger was violent, brutal, a need that scared me almost as much as it consumed me.
For a split second, I let her believe it. Hell I almost believed it myself. It was a damn miracle I stopped myself from taking her right then and there. It took every shred of restraint I had to push her away before I lost control.
I know I shattered her heart, cutting her with cruel words, hoping, thinking that would bury the moment. I wanted to forget her and wanted her to forget me. It didn’t happen. I couldn’t forget her. That kiss, that sound, the look in her eyes—it marked me.
A year later, I still burn for what I didn’t take.
I drag a hand down over my jaw, chest tight with anger and need now.
She made me betray my family.
She made me want, when wanting is weakness.
The memory of that night, of her soft creamy skin, reignites desires I’ve spent months trying to extinguish. A familiar ache presses against my zipper, its presence hard and demanding. Anger and lust swirl in my gut fighting for control. If only I could hate her.
Instead I’m weak for her, so fucking weak. I reach for her before I can stop myself, my thumb dragging over the soft line of her cheek. If she were awake right now, she wouldn’t let me touch her like this. That thought unravels something ugly in me but doesn’t stop the desire from building. An entire year of pretending I didn’t care.
I trail lower, down her throat, slow enough to feel her pulse against my fingertips, my eyes tracing a path to the hem of the T-shirt. The cotton does nothing to hide her from me. She’s wearing simple cotton panties and a bra beneath my shirt, and even that is too much.
Weak. She’s your weakness.
I pull my hand back like I’ve been burned and stagger away from the bed. The cabin feels too suddenly small, the walls closing in. I need distance. Space. Anything to break the magnetic pull she has on me even while she’s unconscious.
The bathroom is ice cold, the stone floor’s chill biting through my boots. I brace both hands on the edge of the sink basin, head hanging low, and force myself to breathe. It doesn’t help. She’s still there—in my head, under my skin, and wrapped in my shirt like she belongs to me.
My hand moves to my belt without conscious thought, undoing the buckle with fingers that shake from restraint, not hesitation. I shove my jeans down just enough to free my aching cock, and the relief is immediate and damning all at once.
Fuck, this is wrong. I know it. I just don’t give a fuck. I’m not a decent man—never have been, never will be. Maybe that’s why she wanted me in the first place. Perhaps she saw the monster and mistook it for something worth saving.
I wrap my hand around my length and groan, low and rough, the sound swallowed by the dark. My other hand braces against the cold stone wall as I work myself with punishing strokes. In my mind, she’s awake. Looking at me with those wide blue eyes—half fear, half something that looks a lot like need. The image plays out in my mind, her beneath me, gasping my name. Her small hands on my chest, her nails sinking into my skin leaving marks. The fucking sounds she’d make when I touched her, when I finally claimed what I’ve been denying myself for a year. Would she fight me? Claw and bite? Would she beg, voice breaking on my name? Or would she go quiet, wide-eyed, lips trembling the way they did when she kissed me?
The thought tears through me, sharp as a blade.
I pump faster, harder, my breath catching, jaw clenched so tight it aches. Every fantasy is a betrayal—of her innocence, of the line I shouldn’t cross. Doesn’t matter. I’m so far gone that whatever moral line existed has been obliterated. I’m tempted to go out there and touch her, but I stop myself. It might not stop at touching, and while I’m a bad person, I draw the line at rape. I glance out the door, my gaze catching on the line of her slim but muscular thigh, the curve of her cunt under her white panties.
What would it be like to see her virgin blood on my cock?
Would she bleed a lot? A little?
Fuck. I grit my teeth against the tension in my balls. Release hits me hard and sudden, violent in its intensity. I grit my teeth as I spill into the basin, shoulders shaking with the force of it. The beat of my heart hammers in my ears, followed by the ragged sound of my breathing, and for a second it’s bliss and nothing else.