Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Death wrapped an arm around my middle and slapped my ass hard before hauling me kicking and screaming back to the bed with the bare stained mattress.
“Let me go!”
He threw me with enough force that I bounced. I scrambled to get away from him.
“You’re so predictable,” he said, his voice calm.
I slid off the bed opposite him and planted my hands on it. I shifted my gaze from him to the door and back.
“Get on the bed.”
We both danced from foot to foot, him mimicking my movements as I bounced left then right, looking for the opportunity to run.
“Just let me go! You don’t have to do this.”
“Get on the fucking bed.”
God, he sounded bored of all things. Fucking bored.
“I don’t know what you’re being paid, but I can pay you more.” It was a total lie. I had no money.
I took two steps, then stopped when he matched them, standing opposite him on the other side of the bed.
“No, you can’t. Now get on the bed, and I’ll take your obedience into consideration when it’s time for your punishment.”
My ass throbbed at the word. I shook my head and this time, went for it. I just went right for the door even though I knew I wouldn’t make it. He was faster. He was bigger. And he was stronger. So when the door slammed shut almost catching my fingers between it and the frame, I wasn’t wholly surprised.
I whirled around, feeling him so close. Close enough to knee? He hadn’t locked the door yet. If I could—
But he must have anticipated it because he caught my knee between his thighs and pressed himself up against me, holding me tight against the door. We stood like that, watching each other, breath coming fast, my naked chest heaving against his with the effort to keep taking in air as he squeezed it out of me. I felt this strange sort of pull to him, this sort of…attraction? No, not that. He may be beautiful, but he was evil. He was no better, no different than Victor. The draw, though, I knew he felt it too. I saw it in the way he looked at me, now that he wore no mask.
But sexual attraction was a thing of the bodies, not the mind. Not the heart. If it was that, it was mechanic. That was all.
There was more. Something else. Something different.
Sometimes, things we can’t remember carry emotion with them. That feeling—good or bad—it’s the thing that’s present between two strangers. And we were strangers. It’s just, this feeling…no, I was confused. Maybe it was a sort of Stockholm syndrome, although it would be too soon, wouldn’t it? When did Stockholm kick in? Maybe because Victor had held me for…how long had he held me? Days? Weeks? Hours? How long ago had I witnessed Mateo’s execution?
No, I was confused. There was no emotion. No feeling. There was only confusion. Confusion and hate.
We stayed like that, our eyes locked, and I felt him, I felt his cock at my belly, hard and thick and ready. He was aroused. I knew he’d been aroused before too. After he’d whipped me, I’d seen how tight his jeans had stretched across his crotch.
“You get off on this.” I said, my voice somehow a controlled whisper, wanting him to know I despised him. Wanting him to believe I felt repulsed by him. “You like it. You like chasing naked girls around this decrepit room, wearing your little mask.”
He grinned and pressed his cock against me once as if to say yes, yes he did.
“I’m not wearing my mask now.”
“You like scaring women half your size? Who could never stand a chance against you physically?”
In the next moment, he circled my wrists with his hands and drew my arms overhead. He leaned down, so his forehead rested against mine.
“I do, Gia,” he whispered.
His eyes roamed over my face and settled on my mouth.
“I like it very much.”
I swallowed and felt the hardening of my nipples against the fabric of his shirt and hated myself for it. Hated my body for it.
“I like a little fight too.”
He brought his mouth to my ear, inhaling along my cheek as he did so.
“It makes my cock hard,” he whispered.
He leaned his face down to where my pulse throbbed against my throat and slid his tongue over it, one long, drawn-out taste to tell me he knew I was terrified, he knew how my heart pounded, and he knew, despite the bravado in my talk, I was scared shitless.
But he didn’t know that didn’t mean I was done fighting.
He brought his face to mine again. His right cheek dimpled when the corner of his mouth turned upward as he looked at my slightly parted lips. He thought he’d won. He thought I wanted him. His eyes declared his assumed victory.