Total pages in book: 191
Estimated words: 188966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 188966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 945(@200wpm)___ 756(@250wpm)___ 630(@300wpm)
As December crept closer, Jack and Anna got busier, just like they always did. Last-minute requests came in for data for the end of the year. Grants were given for next year’s projects. They put in all the hours to clear the decks for their two-week holiday they took over Christmas, waking at dawn and not returning till dusk.
Most days, I went with them.
But on the rare days they didn’t need me onboard, I well and truly defiled their daughter. Most of the time, I’d be inside Neri while she still wore her school uniform. It got to the point where she’d return home from school and be bouncing on my cock two minutes later.
On the days her parents were around, we’d wait until Anna was preparing dinner and Jack was in the shower.
Neri would give me a look.
The look.
The one that said ‘fuck me, immediately.’
I’d follow her to her room or she’d come to mine—depending on where her parents were in the house—and it would only take us a few hot kisses, a quick wrenching of clothing, and I’d pin her against whatever hard surface we were close to and shove my cock inside her.
She didn’t give me a chance to talk to her properly. She drove me wild with her clawing and pawing, making me drop to my fucking knees to service her in any way she wanted.
I well and truly left virginhood behind through frantic riding, grinding, and pumping. And if Jack knew a tenth of what I did to his sweet Little Fish, he’d rip off my cock and hang it from the one and only palm tree in their front garden.
Not that that stopped me.
We fucked like rabbits.
Nowhere was safe.
Doors, walls, floors, Jack’s Jeep, even in the pool with the lights turned off when I was supposed to be helping her with her breathwork.
For a week after our star-witnessed marriage, Neri and I lost ourselves to dirty, frenetic sex.
Twice a day.
Sometimes three times if she crawled into my bed before she went to school—pretending to go running like she sometimes did along the beach, coming to me in tight spandex shorts and a sports bra, acting innocently surprised when I snatched her from the floor, tore off those tempting shorts, and drilled her brutally hard into my pillow.
I couldn’t stop burying myself hilt-deep inside her. Couldn’t stop the spell she’d cast over me, whispering that each time I took her, I was helping her, keeping her safe from memories, giving her an outlet to heal from what Ethan had done.
I trusted her.
I believed that each time she came to me, I was helping my wife, not just fucking her. I was giving her space to be free and move on. She convinced me that my touch burned away Ethan’s and my cock eradicated his.
For an entire week, I was naïve.
For two weeks, I was hopeful.
For three weeks, I was wary.
And by the time she sat her last exam and only had a week left of school before she graduated, I couldn’t swallow her lies anymore.
She’d been lying to me.
Telling me point blank she was okay, when she wasn’t.
She was having nightmares.
I could see it in her drawn cheeks and shadowed eyes. Could sense it in the flagging energy and sparkle of her spirit. I tried to get her to talk to me. Truly talk. I cupped her cheeks and kissed her softly when she came to me for primal fucking, trying to use words instead of thrusts.
But she never let me.
She’d flirt and scoff, saying my fears were unfounded, making me doubt what I sensed until I reluctantly gave in.
It always ended with her tugging down my shorts and riding me, all while I murmured that she was safe, he was gone, and I was there for her in every way she needed.
She’d kiss me afterward, accept my offer to talk without talking, and then return to the main house where she’d fall asleep and return to the night where I couldn’t save her. The night where Ethan touched what wasn’t his to touch and hurt the one girl I would burn the world to fucking ash for.
I tried to pretend her refusal to talk to me didn’t hurt.
I didn’t put my own shit on top of hers.
I didn’t remind her that I knew what she was doing because I did it.
Every damn day since the shipwreck, I’d hidden from my ghosts and shoved them deep, deep inside me. I never let myself remember what my father had told me about Cem Kara and my true heritage. I pretended I was the biological son of a math’s professor because to contemplate anything else fucking crucified me. I couldn’t even admit I wasn’t a true Avci because that meant Melike wasn’t my sister and that was....that just wasn’t possible.