Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
He takes another step forward, closing the space between us in one breathless second. The air thickens, and I can feel the heat of his skin, the barely leashed violence coiled beneath. “I don’t get to…?” His voice cracks on the edge of fury and hunger. “Then tell me why I can’t stop watching you. Thinking about you. Tell me why you’re inside my head and under my skin. Why I want to fucking murder every guy who even thinks about touching you?”
The room is shrinking in on me. I hate how my body betrays me—tightening, trembling, aching for something I know I shouldn’t want and can’t have.
“I hate you,” I whisper, and I hate myself more for how weak it makes me sound.
A laugh escapes his lips, but there’s no humor behind it. Just pain and madness.
“No, you don’t,” he rasps. “You only wish you did.”
One second, he’s standing—his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists—and the next, he’s pressed against me, his eyes squeezed shut like he’s about to commit sacrilege. Something he’ll never come back from. His eyes snap open, and his gaze flickers as if he’s still trying to talk himself out of this. Like the guilt is clawing up his throat, and he’s swallowing it down anyway.
His fingers twitch at his sides, with hesitation. His breath hitches.
“I shouldn’t,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Fuck, I shouldn’t.”
He looks down at me—and what’s in his eyes isn’t just lust. It’s a sorrowful regret. The knowledge that he’s about to give in to a temptation he promised he never would.
The air around us thickens, like the whole world is holding its breath.
“Just once, I want to stop lying to myself. I want to pretend I can have you. I want to be selfish,” he confesses with a growl. His hazel eyes burn into mine. “Tell me to stop.”
What? No. I don’t want him to stop.
“Tell me this is wrong. Tell me I’m disgusting. Tell me I don’t deserve to see you like this. That I don’t deserve to taste you.”
I don’t dare speak because I can’t. I don’t want to.
“Of course you won’t,” he rasps. “Because you’re just as fucked as I am, Little Sister.”
He gently pushes me back and spreads my legs, inserting his thigh between mine, his hands sliding beneath my thighs to lift me until I’m pressed against the firm muscle there.
I grip onto the nearby couch, using it to hold me in place. “I’m going to hell for this,” he mutters, “but I’m taking you with me.”
Then his mouth is on mine, and everything else ceases to exist. With precision, his tongue swipes through my lips in one slow, deliberate stroke that punches a sound out of my throat.
I forget the couch and claw at his shoulders, anchoring myself as he groans against me—hungry, broken, wild.
“You don’t even know,” he murmurs, licking against my lips, my tongue, open-mouthed, wild, filthier now. “You don’t fucking know what I’ve thought about doing to you. Late at night, when I can’t sleep. In the goddamn shower, fists clenched, trying not to come from the thought of your mouth. Your thighs. Your fucking scent.”
“God—Aries—” I gasp, my voice shaking between each wet, heady kiss.
He groans louder, lips locking against mine, his thick thigh pressing hard between my legs, sending small rivulets of pleasure directly to my brain.
“This pussy,” he breathes, breaking away again. “I’ve dreamed about it. Imagined what it would taste like, how it would sound when you came on my tongue. I’ve thought about ruining you with my mouth until you cry. Until you beg. Until your legs can’t fucking hold you.”
I whimper and rub against him, feral for more, for anything he’s willing to give me.
“Please—” I’m so far gone I don’t know if there is any saving me from this man.
“Oh, you want to beg?” he growls, breath ragged. He lets out a broken laugh that sounds like it hurts. “Then beg. I’ll drag it out of you. I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”
He doesn’t wait for my reply. His tongue slides into my mouth again—slow, filthy, with no restraint or hesitation. Like he’s been starving for this. Like he wants to taste the part of me no one else ever has. Or ever will.
I cry out, hips jolting, breaking the kiss when I toss my head back. My thighs quiver around his thigh, and I can feel everything—his mouth, his breath, the sharp drag of his stubble, the brutal devotion in the way he kisses me like he needs this to survive.
“Fuck,” he groans into the curve of my neck. “You feel that? That’s me owning every fucking sound you make.”
He flicks his tongue into my mouth again, then sucks my own tongue into his mouth so hard I gasp his name like a prayer when he releases me. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice a wreck. “Say my name. Let me hear how pretty it sounds when you beg me to make you come.”