Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Fuck! How are you able to do this to me?” The question seemed to be more for himself than me because it wasn’t like I could answer.
He slid his hands beneath my ass and lifted my lower body making him go deeper still. My walls tightened around him, and my toes curled. The flames that he’d ignited threatened to consume me until I couldn’t take anymore.
He’d denied me completion already, but I wouldn’t give him a chance this time. My body erupted from the inside making me very close to the point of passing out.
“That’s right. Cum on my dick like a good little bitch,” he taunted.
And just like that, all the ecstasy that I felt shriveled up in that moment. Nick might not have denied me, but he made damn sure I would hate myself for letting go.
He continued to plow into me like a man holding a jack hammer, stretching my walls to their absolute limits. Just when I didn’t think my humiliation could get any worse, Nick pulled out and shot his seed all over my stomach and chest.
“You’re welcome.”
He rolled off the bed, retrieved his clothing and walked out the door.
My total shame was complete.
Chapter Twelve
Nick
Some would say I had gone completely mad. Some would be correct. It would be my only justification in court if I considered murder.
As I lay on my back after she kicked me down the stairs, all I could think about were ways I would actually kill her, such was my rage. Then I thought she’d be getting off easy. She’d used my brother, mentally tortured him, and then he died. She didn’t deserve death, but I would make her wish she were dead.
So I left the house to take a drive, mainly to cool down. I so wanted to wrap my arms around her throat and choke the life out of her. I drove for over an hour before I came up with a plan of what to do with her. I found myself buying some items to enact it.
Taking the hinges off Frankie’s door wasn’t my most inspired moment. Neither was cuffing her while she slept, but I couldn’t be deterred. I didn’t consider what I’d done cruel because she deserved everything coming to her. Maybe I did go a bit overboard with the knife, but I still felt not the least bit remorse. I relished the fear gleaming in those big brown eyes because I didn’t believe it. She was trying to gain my sympathy and tap into that part of my heart that remembered she used to own it.
I forced myself not to feel anything besides my baser emotions. I let my cock guide me even though there was a brief moment when I nearly lost it. Touching her dark velvety skin made me want to uncuff her and explore her body properly. I wanted to press my lips against her full soft ones. I remembered how sweet her kisses tasted.
The more that I tortured her, however, I felt as if I were doing it to myself. And that made me angrier and meaner. I lashed out, and when it was over, I couldn’t look her in the eyes.
Even as I walked out the door, the sound of her sobs taunted my ears. I had to push away any and all guilt that threatened to surface. That bitch didn’t deserve my sympathy.
I know she only married me for the money. I keep telling her how I feel, but she just laughs at me. She will never love me, and it’s killing me. She’s killing me.
Those words were burned into my memory, and I would never forget them. A few days after Kenny died, my mother had wanted to go to his house and go through some of his personal effect as a keepsake. Since Frankie was in residence, I didn’t think it would be a good idea considering the fragile state she was in.
I’d made an arrangement with Frankie to look through his things while she was out so we wouldn’t have to see each other. Even if she’d said no, I would have kicked the door in to get what I wanted before she could get rid of his belongings.
I hired movers to help me go through the house and collect his things. I’d been so angry going through that house they’d shared together, secretly hating her for leaving me for my brother and secretly jealous of my brother for being the one she chose. I went through the house retrieving items that belonged to him, his wheelchair, crutches, books, his favorite shirts. I didn’t want her to touch anything that used to be his.
The last room I inspected was Kenny’s office. My brother’s cerebral palsy made it difficult for him to work in a regular office setting, so he did a lot of freelance writing. From the time we were kids, he enjoyed reading and writing poetry. His hands may not have cooperated with him all the time, but he used a computer to get his words across and to show his brilliant mind.