Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
I don’t know if I say the words out loud, or if I merely mouth them, but Peter’s nostrils flare, his starkly beautiful face twisting with fierce hunger. His fingers tighten between mine, nearly crushing in their strength, and my eyes squeeze shut as he bends his head, claiming my lips in a possessive kiss. At the same time, the broad head of his cock pushes into the nook between my legs, sliding between my folds until it finds the wet, aching entrance to my core.
He penetrates me with one deep thrust, his thick length stretching me to the edge of pain, and my gasp is swallowed by his lips as his tongue pushes into my mouth, filling me, devouring me, surrounding me with his scent and taste and feel. His possession is rough, his hunger barely controlled, and as he sets a hard, driving pace, the tension inside me spikes again, climbing toward a new peak. It’s too much, too overwhelming, and I wrap my legs around his hips, needing to regain a measure of control, but there’s none to be had.
There’s only Peter and the violent need consuming us.
I don’t know who comes first, or if we get there together. All I know is that by the time the swell washes over me, he’s groaning my name, his pelvis grinding against mine as his cock jerks inside me. The pleasure seems to go on forever, sizzling through my nerve endings, and when it’s over, he rolls off me, gathering me in his arms as I break down and cry, trembling from the intensity of it all… and the guilt that tears at me.
Once again, I gave in to the man who destroyed my life.
It’s only later, when my tears have stopped and Peter is leisurely stroking my back, that something occurs to me, making my blood freeze in my veins.
For the second time, we didn’t use a condom.
12
Peter
I know the exact moment Sara realizes the lack of a condom. Her entire body stiffens, and she lifts her head from its resting place on my shoulder, her eyes wide with horror as she meets my gaze.
“We didn’t—”
“I know.”
It’s the second time—the first was the night I stole her—and though I didn’t omit protection on purpose either time, I can’t say I’m sorry. The thought of Sara growing round with my child doesn’t frighten or repel me; in fact, it fills my chest with a soft, warm glow, one I’ve only known once before.
With Pasha, my son.
A familiar ache pierces my chest, the pain of loss as sharp as ever. The image of Pasha’s body, his little fist clutching the toy car, is carved into my mind with the brutal precision of an assassin’s blade. For years, it was the first thing I thought about each morning and the last each evening. It was the nightmare that woke me up at night and the ghost that tormented me during the day. Avenging him and Tamila, my wife who was killed in the same massacre, was my reason for living, and it wasn’t until I met Sara that I found a new purpose in life.
Her.
My little songbird, who’s now my everything.
At my admission about the condom, Sara looks even more horrified. Grabbing a tissue, she scoots back on the bed and wipes frantically between her legs before clutching the blanket to her chest. Her hazel eyes are huge in her pale face as she says in a choked voice, “Are you trying to get me pregnant?”
“No.” I get up before I’m tempted to fuck her again. Even with my body humming with post-orgasm relaxation, the idea of Sara pregnant is making me harden again, and I have some urgent emails to answer before dinner. “It just happened. There wasn’t a lot of thought involved. But as I told you before, I wouldn’t mind—not that it’s likely at this time of the month for you. Right?”
Sara nods, but her death grip on the blanket doesn’t let up. “It’s not likely, but not impossible either,” she says in a slightly calmer tone. “A lot of things can throw off a woman’s cycle, so you can’t assume it’s safe based solely on the calendar. Besides, my cycle is on the shorter side, and my period ended a couple of days ago.” She takes a breath, then says bluntly, “I need the morning-after pill. Can you get it for me?”
I stare at her, struck by the notion. “Maybe,” I say slowly. “What kind of pill is this, and where would I get it?”
I know what she’s talking about, of course, but I pretend ignorance to give myself a moment to think. Though I didn’t consciously intend for this to happen, now that it has, everything inside me rebels at the idea of reducing the odds of Sara’s pregnancy.