Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
I catalog the visual clues with a quick, practiced glance. Her shift dress and cardigan are humble. The thread is cheap. The matching set reminds me of supermarket clothing, yet on her, it’s pretty. Paired with ballerina style flats, she pulls off a cute look. The soft soles of her shoes explain why I didn’t hear her coming. My senses are always sharp.
I home those senses in on her now, taking in every little detail. She smells fresh, like someone who just stepped out of the shower. Standing flush against her, the difference in our height is even more apparent. Her chin barely reaches my collarbone. Her body is small and her bones are fragile. Her life is vulnerable. I hold it in my hands.
The knowledge flows between us in a quiet stare, a myriad of emotions transmitted in the flash of a second without a single word spoken. The pulse in her throat flutters under my palm. The wild gallop of her heart penetrates my breastbone and echoes in my chest. In this moment, as I become the master of her fate, her heart beats only for me.
For the first time in my life, I know what it feels like to own a life. It’s different than killing. Giving isn’t the same as taking. The knowledge is intoxicating. It stalls me. The rush goes straight to my head, and as I lean closer, trapping the blade between us, all the blood that pumps with something other than adrenaline through my veins goes straight to my cock.
I grow hard against her soft belly. She feels it. Her big, stunning eyes grow even rounder with the knowledge.
Fuck me.
Who would’ve guessed I’d be into this? I never realized I was such a twisted, kinky son of a bitch. Then again, it’s the first time I hold a woman at knife point. Although, it’s not the knife kink. It’s not the blade. And it’s not her fear. Well, not only. It’s the control. It’s knowing that in this well-lit corner of a dark street I am her god. Whether she breathes or utters her last sound for me and for my ears alone is entirely at my whim. She’s a clever girl. She reads me well. The realization dawns in her eyes as she watches me with terrified uncertainty.
I allow myself to indulge in the fantasy just for a moment, imagining how I’d make her kneel and worship her god. I won’t have to wine and dine her. I won’t have to indulge in fruitless conversations. I won’t have to meet her family and make promises I never intend to keep. The best part is that I don’t have to trust her, because for as long as I live, I’ll never trust a woman again. All I have to do is command her.
That’s when I know.
I’m not going to kill her.
She must sense the change in me. The moment my focus shifts from killer to predator, she slams her palms on my chest and fights to push me off her, not that her efforts shift me an inch. I let her try, enjoying her fight, perhaps a little too much. It’s adorable how she punches a fist on my ribs, hoping to inflict damage.
At the same time she lifts her arm and tries to knock my hand from her throat, the door of the bar opens. We both still, our gazes locked in another quiet spell as more knowledge courses between us. She thinks she’s saved. I know exactly what she’s going to do even before she opens her mouth and sucks in a breath. Before she has time to let out the scream, I crush our mouths together. I swallow her sounds and her gasp, stealing inside her mouth with my tongue.
She turns rigid in my hold. Using the advantage of the surprise, I plunder her mouth like a greedy thief falling on a treasure. Her breath is warm and sweet. She tastes like strawberries and addiction. She’s too shocked to fight me. Just in case she gets that idea into her head, I make sure she feels the sharp edge of the knife on the soft mound of her stomach, and this time, I’m not playing, not with the knife and not with the kiss.
The subdued but deadly violence that still courses through my blood dictates my actions as I kiss her with meaning. It makes me harder. I kiss her like I’ve never kissed another woman, not even Rachele. It doesn’t have to be rough to be intense. Somehow, the gentleness with which I explore the shape of her tongue and the contours of her lips is much more explosive. Much more threatening. If I’m not careful, I could easily get carried away, but I’m always careful. I’m always in control. Even as I eat her lips, I do it with single-minded purpose. And even as I thoroughly enjoy her taste, I take stock of the people who spill out of the bar onto the sidewalk. The weapon is hidden between us, the blade cold against her warm body. For all the passersby know, I’ve got my hand between her legs. I could be fingering her right here in the open.