Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“Fuck this!” Ron yells, getting to his feet. He looks ridiculous, his mask half pulled off, his pants held up by his suspenders while his cock sticks out the front of his pants, but he doesn’t care.
“Fucking back off! She safe worded,” Daniels, who has an understanding of my lifestyle, says. He’s a member of the club. He knows how it is. More importantly, he’s the only thing keeping me somewhat steady, heaving in air as my sweet, naïve submissive balls herself up by my feet. He gets in between Ron and me, which saves Ron from having my fist cave in the side of his face. “Look, man, that shuts it down, no matter what.”
“Gabriel,” she whispers and peers up at me, very much not okay. Her arms wrap around my leg, and just as my hand spears through her hair to tell her it’s alright, to let her know they’ll be gone in a moment and I can tend to her . . . rage consumes my very being.
“You . . . you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Ron bellows, pushing Daniels. I catch him and get in Ron’s face, my fist cocked and ready. “She said stop, so we just stop? She’s supposed to be your whore, for fuck’s sake!”
My vision turns to red as I scream at him, only kept grounded by Kiersten holding onto me. “What I call her, and what she and I do, is a relationship that we have. And nothing we do can take away her choice,” I growl. “Now leave, and trust me, if you don’t, this won’t just be your last poker night, it will be your last fucking night on this earth.”
Ron gawks, and for an instant I think he’s going to give me an excuse to show him what I’m truly fucking capable of.
But instead, he steps back, his face flushed and his eyes full of confusion. “Fucking . . . nothing good ever fucking happens to me. Bullshit like this is why you have to pay for it. I should have fucking known better.”
“Time for you to leave, Ron.” Daniels is calm, and I’m barely held stable.
“Gabriel,” Kiersten whispers as the two men fight. Her gaze catches mine, and she holds me there. Paralyzed and torn, I want nothing more than to kill Ron Johnson.
KIERSTEN
The Past, October
It’s quiet, too quiet to be left alone with my thoughts. For the first time in almost two months, I don’t sleep at Gabriel’s palatial penthouse. After what happened earlier today, I just wanted to be alone, but now I’m second-guessing that decision. Gabriel understood when I asked him to go back to my place. I’m still trembling. He drove me himself, dropping me off after walking me up and making sure I was safe.
The last look he gave me is still fresh in my mind, a look of regret and remorse.
As I turn over on my side on the sofa, there’s an emptiness and a worry that accompanies me. I’m still sore, and it’s not the sweet ache that I’m used to. It fucking hurt. It was only a physical pain, but now I have this unnerving emotional pain, and I can’t quite place it, but I know it has everything to do with how Gabriel thinks of me and whether putting distance between us was a wise decision.
Staring at the ceramic mug, no doubt filled with cold tea by now, on the coffee table, all I feel is loneliness.
My apartment’s like a stranger’s place now, or a photograph of my past. The kitchen is empty, with a light layer of dust on my dishes and on top of my stove. My couch looks dingy, with a couple of dust bunnies peeking out from underneath. From the looks of things, I suspect they’ve been down there breeding like bunnies tend to do.
But even the mention of the word breeding in my mind sends a fresh wave of throbbing through me. And not the good kind, the kind that comes from Gabriel making my entire body ignite underneath his relentless yet gentle touch. With him, he overwhelms me with pleasure, playing my body like it was made just for him, bringing out the most in me with an almost feather-like stroke.
The other men were only ever . . . players? Toys themselves? I’m not even sure how to think of them. It was pleasure for pleasure. It was transactional. Never anything more.
My throat dries, and my entire body tenses. I just don’t want that anymore, and I don’t know how Gabriel will react. I’m bruised and I hurt, and I don’t think they could care less. At least not Johnson, the man who did it. I don’t even know who he is. And yet, he hurt me deeply, more than just black and blue flesh. Perhaps it was some fantasy I had in my head that’s been brought down to reality, landing with a harsh crash and burning rubble.