Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 672(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Because the other day, he ordered me to stop or I’m risking being caught flirting with the coach. Not to mention, it’s his rule that he won’t do anything on the school grounds.
Please.
Obviously, I break both his rules so he can break them too, and see that the world doesn’t fall apart when he does.
So I send him little notes about how much I need him and I keep sending them until he sends for me. When I get there, wearing my mustard-colored skirt and my hair tied up in a braid, I find him sitting in his throne-like chair.
He tells me to lock the door first.
Then he tells me to untie my hair and when I do that, he commands, “Show me.”
With my back against the door, I inch up my skirt. I slide my thong off my core and show him the peach between my legs.
He stares at it for a few seconds, his fingers gripping the arm of his chair in a harsh, violent grip before he commands me to play with my pussy.
I do that too until I make a mess of my fingers and my thighs, and until he’s springing from his chair and coming at me. Picking me up, he brings me to his desk and spreads me out like a meal he’s about to consume.
Flipping my skirt up, he enters me in one go and I arch my back.
“But I-I thought you had a rule,” I tell him, scratching his abdomen under his t-shirt as he pounds into me.
“I changed my mind,” he growls, fisting my messy hair. “You need my cock. So I can straighten out your bad girl pussy, bang her into shape.”
Biting my lip, I smile and moan and scratch. “And see? The world is still well and alive around us even if you broke a rule to make me a good girl.”
That makes him pause for a second, his lips parted and swollen from my kisses, his eyes lust-burnt.
“You think you’re so smart, don’t you?” he growls, punctuating those words with a harsh stab of his cock, making my entire body jiggle. “But that’s not what you are, remember?”
I pant, my thighs trembling around his hips. “Arrow…”
Grabbing the edge of his desk over my head, he shoves his cock into me again, inching that heavy piece of furniture up with the force. “Tell me who you are.”
I dig my nails into his stomach when he stops, waiting for my answer. “Your fuck doll.”
“Yeah, so you don’t make the rules, do you?”
“No.”
“Who does then?”
“My Arrow makes the rules.”
Still, he doesn’t move, making me wait and wait and wait…
“Arrow, please…”
“It hurts, doesn’t it?” he asks, his chain pooling on my throat, over my madly pulsing vein. “It hurts to wait. Is your pouty, bratty pussy hurting, Salem?”
I squirm my ass on his desk. “Yes.”
His dick lurches inside of me, throbs like my soppy channel, and yet he’s stubbornly stationary.
“Who’s making it hurt, baby?” he whispers, going for my lip, nipping the fat curve of it.
“You,” I reply. “My Arrow is making my pussy hurt.”
As soon as I’ve said it, he gives me what I want.
He resumes his movements and I close my eyes in relief.
“And who’s making your pussy feel good now?” He licks the spot on my lip that he’s just nicked with his sharp teeth.
“My Arrow.” I grab his sweaty hips, urging him to move faster. “My Arrow is making my pussy feel good.”
When he makes me come a few minutes later and empties himself inside of me – or the condom actually – almost simultaneously, I wonder again.
How can I stop?
He needs me.
He needs me to love him.
Because if I don’t, then his rage will eat him alive.
His rules and aggression. His pursuit for perfection.
His anger.
So yeah, I can’t stop.
I have to tempt fate.
For him.
***
It’s way past midnight and I’ve just woken up after my coma-like after-sex nap.
I’m at the foot of his bed and I blink my eyes open to find him directly opposite to me, propped up on the pillows, chest bare and one of his knees bent.
He’s reading something on his iPad that’s resting on his folded leg, a frown of concentration between his brows.
Well, at least he isn’t killing himself down on the floor like he usually does.
I watch him for a second, absorbed in whatever he’s reading, all lit up and sexy under the yellow light of his lamp.
This is exactly how he used to look back when we lived together while he did his homework or studied for a test. I’d watch him, hiding behind a wall or a piece of furniture, wishing I could go talk to him. I could tell him good luck or I know you’ll do great on the test or something.
Which makes me realize that I can do that now. I can tell him things.