Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 175455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 877(@200wpm)___ 702(@250wpm)___ 585(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 175455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 877(@200wpm)___ 702(@250wpm)___ 585(@300wpm)
This is so unfair.
“Done fighting, princess?” he asks, casually, as if he could do this all day.
“What happened to you?” I demand. “What made you like this? Were you born this way, or did someone create this monster?”
Now he rolls his eyes, pulling my hands close enough together that he only needs to hold them with one, freeing his other hand up. “Let’s not get into another counseling session, okay, Ellis? You’re not getting paid by the hour.”
“Don’t do this,” I implore him.
Ignoring me, he uses his free hand to resume unbuttoning my skirt. He pushes it open and smirks at the plain, white cotton panties beneath. “Of course. Virgin panties.”
I flush with embarrassment, and that makes me even angrier. He slides his hand between my legs, cupping the last part of my body he should be touching. I draw in a few shallow breaths, drowning in humiliation. Tears sting my eyes, but I will them away. His knees are between my legs, so I can’t even squeeze them shut. I can’t stop him from touching me.
“Have you ever let a guy get you off?” he asks casually.
I refuse to dignify that question with an answer, glaring silently at the ceiling.
“Probably not, huh?” he replies, unbothered by my lack of participation. “You’re a bit of an ice princess. Doesn’t bother me, but… you are.”
I almost manage to ignore him, but then he slides a finger up under the fabric and I panic, moving my hips to try to get his hand off me. “Carter, please.”
He teases me, playing with the elastic, letting his finger brush the inside of my thigh. “Well, since you said please…”
I eye him warily, but he moves his hand away from my panties and trails it up my abdomen. He runs the flat of his palm all the way up until he can cup my breast, then he caresses one in his hand.
“Mm, I’ve missed these,” he tells me.
I’m still wearing a shirt, but it’s the black one that laces up at the bust. Carter begins working the lace free from the top, and when he’s done, the shirt gapes open all the way to my waist. He slides his hand inside and cups my left breast, palming it and sending a shard of ice straight through me.
I don’t know whether to ask him to stop again or stop feeding him. Maybe I should just shut him out. He’s probably going to do whatever he wants to me anyway. This is out of my control now. There’s nothing I can say or do—there hasn’t been, since he got a taste for this in that damn empty classroom. He may as well have held me down and inflicted all the crude bullshit he desired that day, because now on top of everything else, I feel like a fool. A fool for being intrigued by him, for letting myself feel even a sliver of sympathy for him, for letting myself wonder if there might be more to him, if maybe that day in the classroom, he got carried away, too.
He didn’t. This is who he is, and I don’t think he’s sorry.
He releases my hands and despite all the doom and gloom of the moment, I’m hit by a swell of hope. Is he letting me go? Is he stopping?
Then I meet his gaze, and he smiles faintly. “Now, let’s get this shirt all the way off.”
Chapter 14
Even though I’m tired, even though I know I’ll lose, I try my best to keep my shirt on. Carter seems to draw pleasure out of the struggle. Once he has my bra off, too, he shoves me back down on the bed in nothing more than my panties and removes the last of my doubts as to whether or not he enjoyed that; he grinds himself against me, and I can tell he’s aroused by how hard he is.
I don’t know how to get control of this thing, but force isn’t working. Well, it’s not working for me. It’s clearly working just fine for him. Force only works if you’re the stronger opponent. I don’t have the physical strength, but maybe I can win using a different kind of weapon.
Even though I’m terrified I’m about to be violated, I force myself to go soft. I stop struggling against him, stop flinching when he runs his thumb over my nipple, stop wallowing in the humiliation of him looking at me mostly naked. I stop everything and do my best to switch gears, to fight his violence with the last thing I want to give him—submission.
My hands aren’t pinned anymore. Tentatively, I lift a hand, reaching toward his face. As if on reflex, his fingers close around my wrist to stop me. He starts to move it like he has been, but when his hard eyes meet mine, I shake my head.