Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Does it hurt?” he asks through gritted teeth, panting in my face. “This is how you like it. This is what gets you wettest. I could swim through your slit right now if your tight little cunt wasn't squeezing like it is.”
He's right. And it's squeezing tighter all the time because this is doing exactly what he says. Pushing me higher, bringing me to the edge. I want to fight against it almost as much as I want it to happen. I crave that release that only comes when I'm with him.
“Filthy slut,” he grunts between thrusts. “You love being used. I’m going to fill all your holes again and again until you’re covered in my cum.”
I want so much to turn away from what he’s saying, but I can’t. Not when the mental image he’s conjuring has me clenching around him. There’s no stopping this. I'm teetering on the edge when he pulls out, leaving me hanging when I was moments away.
He takes himself in his hand, pumping furiously and coming on my stomach. I don't know if I'm glad he finished with me or disappointed I didn’t get to finish, too.
“What are you doing?” I whisper between gasps for air, watching him scoop cum off my skin. My sharp gasp cuts through the air when he shoves his fingers inside me, depositing it deep inside my quivering tunnel.
“Now, once you're pregnant with my child, maybe that will shut your fucking mouth.” He pulls his fingers free. “Maybe that will settle you down.” I can only watch, aching and humiliated, as he tucks his dick back into his pants.
Then he turns and walks away, leaving me helpless with his cum dripping from me.
8
CHRISTIAN
Stepping out into the hall, I rake my hands through my hair, dread and remorse flicking across my skin. Tentatively I turn and hold my hand out, hovering it over the knob. Then I pace the floor, alternating between wanting to leave her there to stew in her thoughts and wanting to comfort her.
This, the torture, the way I fucked her—that is who I am. Through and through. I fuck and suck until I am done, and I sure as shit don’t feel sorry for how I leave things. Yet here I am, feeling remorse for something I’ve done.
I’m torn, trapped in a headspace I don’t like one fucking bit. She deserved it. Every vile thing I’ve done, she’s earned. I told her not to test me, but she did it anyway. And while I fucked her, tied and bound, I reveled in it. This is me—hard, demented, and chaotic. So why in the hell is there a pit in my stomach? Why do I want to go back into that room and hold her to my chest?
With Siân, this is different. I want to be different. Over the past few days, I’ve battled with trying to be softer with her while keeping to my truest self. But who am I kidding? No matter how well I pretend, my darkest desires always present themselves. It never fails. I am who I am, and Siân is just going to have to figure out a way to deal with that.
She talks about hating the way I am, yet at every turn, she challenges my authority. A part of me is starting to believe she purposely pushes my buttons because she wants me to react, to punish her. There’s something inside her that wants to be with me. Even the sick, sadistic version she claims disgusts her so much. But she can’t admit it, not to me and not to herself.
So the only way she can have her cake and eat it too is by force. Siân presses my buttons because she wants me to react, to take from her what I want. That way, she gets her fill and never has to face her own dark desires. She never has to say to herself that she is as screwed up somehow as I am. The one true difference here is that I own who I am.
A criminal.
A tyrant.
A sick motherfucker.
But she, on the other hand, has a lot of self-reflection to do. She’s mine now for eternity, and it’ll go a lot smoother if she accepts that. But at the same time, I recognize that I need to make some concessions of my own. Yes, I love her fear, her tears, but what I’ve learned is that I love it more when she wants it to. The rush I got in the alley was largely in part because her body showed me that she enjoyed it. Her words and her tears were all a show, but the skill, the effort she put in getting me off, and the subtle shift in her body weren’t the actions of a person who hated it.