Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 272(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
I look down at her relaxed face and cradle her cheek as I fuck her gently for a moment. “My peaceful little angel. Sleeping while I fuck her cunt, while I dirty her up and make her mine.”
Mine. The word runs through my mind on repeat.
Leaning down, I bury my face in the crook of her neck and start pounding into her without restraint.
It doesn’t take me long to come with a roar. My balls tighten before emptying every last drop of cum into her waiting pussy.
Minutes pass before the haze of lust is lifted from my mind, and I’m able to think somewhat straight, but it isn’t until I sit up to look at her that I realize something’s wrong. My cock is coated in blood. More of it is smeared over her thighs and between her legs.
Fuck. What did I just do?
12
Monroe
I wake up oddly warm, a kind of warmth I haven't felt… well, ever. I try to blink my eyes open, but it feels like they are weighted, just like my limbs, which are hugged to my body tightly.
Trapped between sleep and wakefulness, I stay in limbo for what feels like a long time. Luckily, it’s not such a bad place to be. I feel comfortable, content, and most surprisingly, safe.
My body and mind slowly come back to life. With each passing second, the fog surrounding my brain is getting thinner, and the feeling in my toes and fingers returns, letting me wiggle them awake.
When I’m able to move my arms again, I try to push the blanket tucked around me off, but it won’t move an inch. As a matter of fact, it feels like it’s only getting snugger.
“Shh… it’s okay…” a deep voice rumbles close to my ear. It sounds like someone is whispering, but the sound is loud and vibrates through my body.
It takes me another few minutes to understand where I am and what is happening.
Dinner.
Alaric.
Drugs.
He fucking drugged me.
“It’s okay,” he repeats, and all I want to do is yell at him. It’s not okay. Nothing is okay.
I force my eyes open, and they obey reluctantly. The room is dark. The only light illuminating some of the space is that coming from the cracked bathroom door.
Like a child, I’m swaddled into a blanket, two strong arms holding me in place against a firm chest.
As feeling returns to every part of my body, the dull ache between my legs becomes apparent. Oh god. He had sex with me while I was passed out. Tears sting my eyes as the realization of what he took from me sets in. He took my virginity while I was drugged and unresponsive.
A sense of loss hits me first, like he took part of me I will never get back. A part that I wasn’t quite ready to give. On top of that, he robbed me of the experience. A rite of passage I will never go through now. I feel cheated and violated at the same time. It doesn't quite make sense. Shouldn’t I be glad that I was passed out for this? Maybe this is the drug talking.
Anger washes over me next, like a tidal wave of fury, and I want to lash out, scream, kick, and break something, but all I can do is lie here.
My ear is pressed against his warm chest, which now explains why the whisper seemed so loud. The low thud of his heartbeat echoes in my head, and again, I feel oddly comforted when I partly know I should be anything but.
I’m being tugged in two directions. One is telling me to get away, and the other is urging me to get closer. The self-preservation part ends up winning the tug of war.
“Let go of me,” I croak, barely recognizing my own voice. I squirm, hoping he would let me go, but his arms only tighten to the point of making it hard to breathe. “Stop!”
He loosens his hold, but only enough for me to tilt my head and look at his shadowed face. My anger reaches a new boiling point when I see him glaring down at me like I’m the one who did something wrong.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin? I specifically asked you, and you lied to me.”
“Are you making this my fault, you prick?”
His features soften a smidge. “I thought you were a…”
“A whore?” My voice is tinged with bitterness. “No. I don't do that stuff for money. I only did it for you.”
“Why?” he demands.
“Because…” I chew at my bottom lip. “I don't know. The money.”
“I'm sure others have offered you money, too. You like me. Admit it.”
“No,” I hiss. Hot tears spring to my eyes again, and I curse softly. “I can't even wipe my tears. I fucking hate you.” And I do hate him, yet I rub my face against his bare chest, using him to soothe me.