Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“You like it, don’t you? You like it when I beg. When I go horny out of my mind at one smile from you and I come in my pants.”
I shudder, my core buzzing with his words. “Abel…”
“Admit it. Admit that’s why you keep saying no.”
“I…” I look to the dark ceiling, embarrassed and horny. “Yes. I-I love it that you get so crazy about me. It’s… sort of freeing. Makes me feel powerful.”
He chuckles. “Ah, so my Pixie is a cock-tease. Who knew?”
I gasp, shaking my head. “I’m not. I am so not. Besides, you tease me too. You don’t let me touch myself as a punishment. You keep telling me what to do and that’s not nice.”
Okay, so I might be a little bit of a tease. But he’s a jerk too, ordering me around. It’s fun to have a little bit of power. Because I’ve seen what having no power does to a person. I’ve promised myself that I’ll never end up like my dad. Though Abel is nothing like my mom, is he?
“And you listen to me, don’t you?”
“Yes. Like an idiot,” I grumble.
“How about I tell you to touch yourself now, like I’m doing.”
I forget all about maintaining control and whatnot because I’m drowning in lust now. “You are… touching yourself?”
“Fuck yeah. I’m jerking off to your voice. Does that make you horny?”
I swallow, picturing him holding his cock in his large hands. Damn it. I want to be touching it. Me. I want to see his face when he comes in my hand. “Yes.”
“Then I’m gonna be nice to you, Pixie. So you know how much I love you. How much I hurt for you.”
“How?” I breathe, squeezing my legs together, my fingers playing with the hem of my pajamas.
“I’m gonna tell you to touch your tight little clit for me. Can you do that?”
I tell him yes and my fingers fumble in the dark, reaching for my most achy part. And when he tells me to put a finger inside, I do that too. I follow his every direction until I come before going to sleep, thinking that this was a good night.
But some nights are hard. Some nights tears flow freely, running down to my hair, soaking the strands, soaking my pillow. Some nights I’m a crying girlfriend.
“I don’t know how long I can do this. I miss you so much. I hate this town.”
“Nah, you just love me.”
“Of course I love you, you f-fucking idiot. Why aren’t you as mad about this as me?”
“My Pixie is acting all grown up with her swearing and stuff.”
“Abel, stop making jokes, all right? Be mad with me,” I whisper-hiss.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I started, I wouldn’t know how to stop.”
I clutch the phone tighter at the violent vibrations in his whisper. Violent and fierce. He’s angry and grows angrier every day, doesn’t he? I hate this for him, for us, for our love.
“I want to tell them, Abel. I think my dad will take our side.” Well, I’m not sure what he can do in front of Mom but maybe he’ll come to our defense like he did before, about Abel.
“No.”
“But Abel –”
He cuts me off, his voice harsh. “No, Pixie. You’re not telling them. Not until I can do something about it. Not until I have the power.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means we need to be smart. We need to wait. I need to have some money saved up and you need to be legal. So if things go south, we can do something about it.”
He’s scaring me. “Like what?”
“Whatever it takes. Because I’m not letting you go, Pixie. I’m keeping you. Remember I told you that?”
“Yeah.”
“I meant it,” he declares.
I’m going to turn eighteen in just about a month. I’ve never waited for a birthday like I have for this one.
In four weeks, I’m going to tell my parents about me and Abel. I know it won’t be pretty and my mom will probably freak out. But she’ll come around. I’m almost sure Dad will be on my side; he might not make it known, though.
There’s simply no case against Abel. Well, except that he’s an Adams, and my mother hates that family.
As much as I’d like to forget about what happened almost two years ago, I can’t. People look at me with suspicion, like I’m a dying star, ready to collapse on myself. At school, when I pass by the spot where Abel held my hand and said I was his, I’m reminded of that day. His torn-up and angry expression. As if there’s any way that I’d choose a moron like Duke over Abel.
My Abel is an artist. He’s pure gold. He’s passionate, romantic, intense and playful. He can be a little over-possessive and controlling but that’s okay. I can handle him. I’d never leave him. Never.