Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Did you need something?” he asks after opening the bedroom door.
He’s chill, his demeanor bored as if he’s unimpressed at seeing me struggle so fruitlessly against the ropes.
“Let me go,” I hiss, trying to hide my wince when I pull the rope too hard and it cuts through my skin. “I’m going to have permanent fucking scars from this shit.”
His eyes run over my body, locking on the blood dripping down my arm.
“You don’t want a lifelong reminder of the time we spent together?”
I freeze, my body responding to that statement in a way that would surely get me locked in a padded cell if I were to ever describe it out loud, but then I notice the way his eyes drift to my lower belly.
A slow smile spreads across his face as he inches forward. My pulse kicks up and my nipples harden. My anger is real, but so is my arousal.
“You cut out my fucking birth control?” I hiss.
He shrugs. “You’re mine to do with as I please.”
His words are a reminder that the last time he was in here, he made promises he didn’t keep, taunted me for wanting what I know he’s capable of giving.
I didn’t respond the way he wanted me to, and this is his way of punishing me for it. I’m a fan of being punished, but he’s torturing with denial.
Denial of pain, denial of orgasm.
“I fucking hate you,” I growl, but it only makes him smile wider.
The man is fucking disarming, so goddamned handsome that I have to look away from him.
He’s not classically good looking. He’s the man women cross the street to get away from. They would read his dark eyes as soulless, and they’d be right.
They see him as a monster. To me? He’s utter fucking perfection.
And I hate him for it.
“I hate you, too,” he responds, but that sinister smile never leaves his lips as he trails a finger up my hip to my ribcage.
I do my best not to wiggle away from his touch, but it proves to be too much. My nerves are fried, and my control over my body isn’t what it normally is.
“You know how to get released.”
“I’m not agreeing to anything you want. I’m going to live my life how I want.”
His eyes lift to mine, and he spends a minute just staring at me. It’s unnerving, as if he can see right through me without even trying.
“Your life is mine to dictate.”
His fingers start to move over my flesh again, tracing my collarbone, teasing my nipples.
He chuckles when I try to close my tied legs as he inches down my stomach.
“There’s another way to get loose.”
I bite my lip to keep myself from speaking.
El Salvador.
He’s reminding me that four simple syllables will have me untied and freed.
If I do, I lose.
If I do, I’ll be expected to leave.
I never want to be defeated, so I’ll never say the words.
He wants to break me. I know it in every cell in my body.
Like I know he won’t give up until it eventually happens.
The idea of that doesn’t bother me as much as it should.
What makes me want to scream is if I survive it, he’ll be done. No one wants a broken toy.
I try not to concentrate on it, but I know I don’t want to leave. I don’t like the realization, but that’s the truth.
There’s something about this man, the fact that he can give me every single thing my dark heart desires, that makes me want to stick around.
His procession, whatever it is that’s driving him to keep me around, won’t last forever, and that’s what causes the real pain.
For the very first time in my life, I want to be wanted. I want to be cared for in the way I require. And maybe that’s his goal. He wants me to need him because cutting me loose is how he will issue the final blow, the one that really hurts me.
“Never,” I hiss as his thumb circles my clit.
“Good,” he whispers, sounding a little distracted as his eyes follow his fingers down my thigh. “I’m thinking about keeping you. There’s nothing better than owning a hot, slippery cunt that’s always begging to be abused.”
I can’t deny it. I can feel the cool air in the room on the slickness forming below.
There’s no sense in using words to deny what he can see with his own eyes.
Then he walks away.
Rage boils inside of me.
I hate being alone. I hate silence.
He fucking knows it. It’s one more way for him to get inside my psyche, one more way to control me.
Before long, he’s back with a plate of food and I remain calm, although I’m close to begging for a bite as he slowly places the plate on the bedside table before untying my legs. He helps me sit up, the warmth of his body against mine as he lifts me under the arms. I resist the urge to take a bite out of his neck because I’m fucking starving.