Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
His mood is like mercury.
“And you will always be my first,” I tell him. “But you know I’m with Crane.”
His upper lip curls. “I will make you forget him.”
I nearly laugh at how possessive he’s being. “You can’t make me forget him, Brom. You’re the one who…” I stop myself, licking my lips.
One hand goes to the back of my neck, gripping me there, the other grabbing my waist. “The one who what?” he says, his voice hard, his grip harder.
“You’re the one who has forgotten,” I tell him, feeling like this should be something Crane tells him, but at this point, I’m not sure how that will go. “You know Crane. You’ve met him before. In New York. You were in New York City, and you were calling yourself Abe, and you were with him. You were with him.”
His eyes widen briefly, like two black moons, and then his brows meet, and he shakes his head. “No. No. You’re mistaken. He’s mistaken!”
“Brom,” I say as his hand grows tighter at my neck. “I know you don’t remember, but that’s what happened. You were his lover.”
“Shut up,” he sneers, letting go of my neck and pushing me to the side. He goes to my bedroom door and closes it, and my heart jumps. He turns to face me. “I don’t know what game you’re playing.”
“Me?” I cry out. “You’re the one playing games here! Just before you showed up tonight, the headless horseman came into my room! He came in holding a head. Am I going to find out tomorrow that it was a result of your jealousy?”
His chin jerks in, indignation working his brows. “You think I’m the headless horseman? You really think I’m the murderer?”
“Well, are you?”
He strides toward me, and I back up until the backs of my legs hit the bed.
“Whore,” he snarls in my face.
“What?” I exclaim in shock.
He growls and grabs me by the throat, squeezing. “Dirty fucking whore,” he says.
Then he kisses me. The tenderness of earlier is gone. This kiss is deep and brutal. He’s taking and taking, tongue plunging in deeper, fucking my mouth.
My body betrays me. I should push him away for calling me that word, but some hidden part of me likes it. It wants to feel his wrath. It wants to be insulted. I can feel how wet I am already, the inside of my thighs damp. The thrill of danger is too beautiful.
He pulls at my neck until our mouths break apart and I can barely breathe, and in his eyes, I see a storm of lust that terrifies me.
“You couldn’t even wait for me,” he rasps. “You had to get someone else’s cock to satisfy that greedy hole of yours.” He brings me forward again by the neck, the pressure getting tighter, and I gasp, our eyes inches away from each other. “I’ll fuck them out of you. You belong to me, only me. And tonight, I’m claiming you as mine.”
My stomach twists, and I’m panting under his grip.
“You like that, don’t you?” he growls. “Little slut.”
And then he pushes me onto the bed. Before I can right myself, he’s lifting me by the neck and flipping me around so that my knees are on the bed and I’m pressed with my breasts against the wall.
“Put your hands up on the wall,” he warns, his voice gruff and hard. “Don’t move.”
With shaking arms, I do as he says, my heart pounding in my chest and head. I lay my palms flat on the wall, and I hear him behind me, taking off his clothes. I could stop this. I could at least try. But I don’t want to. I want him to give himself to me in all his fury. I might belong to Crane, but I still want Brom to belong to me.
“Fuck,” I hear him say through a gasp. “You’re going to feel this. You’re going to feel me so deep that you’ll forget you’ve been fucked before. You’ll never be rid of me.”
Behind me, the bed sinks as he kneels on it, and I feel his wild energy at my back. It’s hot and immense and seems to grow more powerful by the second, and I feel like I’m about to lose my mind.
I jump, startled, as his hands find the bottom of my nightgown and tug it up around my waist. Then he pulls down my drawers, sliding them over my feet, discarded on the floor somewhere.
“How perfect you are, daffodil,” he rasps, the lust making his voice raw as I feel his eyes on my bare skin. “You’re so wet. You’re dripping for me.”
I gasp as a hand slides up between my thighs and rubs over where I’m soaked and swollen, and I can’t help but let out a deep moan that rattles my lungs.