Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81581 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81581 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He swallows. “When I finished, I went back to my room. I’d felt so guilty and wanted to apologize to my bird but…”
My heart pounds in my chest. “What?”
“He wasn’t there,” he chokes out. “Wail was gone.”
A tear leaks out of my eye and I sit up. My palm strokes his stubbly cheek. “Where did he go?”
His eyes are hard when they meet mine. “My father said my bird stunk up our house. He killed my bird. Dad plucked the feathers and cleaned his carcass. Handed it to my mother and made her cook it up.”
“No…”
“She didn’t know,” he murmurs. “Always doing what he asked of her. But I didn’t eat Wail’s mom. I ate Wail.”
I press a kiss to his mouth. Soft kisses. Comforting kisses. Over and over again because I don’t want him to think about his asshole father. He’s still at first, but when I straddle him to kiss him harder, he parts his mouth to meet my tongue with his. His fingers spear into my hair to guide our kiss.
A moan escapes me when his hard cock rubs against my ass. When he reaches between us, I lift my body and let him guide himself into me again. My body aches from all the sex we’ve had, but this feels different. Not just fucking. Something else. I slide up and down on his thick length as my gaze meets his. Sadness lingers in his eyes, but the hunger he always seems to have for me slides into the forefront. His strong fingers find my hips. He grips them almost to the point of pain as he lifts his hips to drive into me.
“Gray,” I moan as my head tilts back. One of his hands slips to my breast while the other begins massaging my clit. I ride him wildly until an orgasm is rippling through me, causing every muscle in me to spasm. I’m trying to find the sense to slide off of him before he comes, but then he’s gripping my hips again. With hard, measured thrusts, he seeks out his own climax. And with a groan on his end, I feel his heat surge into me.
Fuck.
Why am I so careless with him?
He yanks me to him, and I fall hard against his chest. Our heartbeats are thundering against one another through our chests. His fingers tangle in my hair as he whispers sweet nothings against the shell of my ear through my messy hair.
You’re mine.
I want you forever.
Let me keep you.
Mine.
Let me love you.
Forever.
The words are intense and spoken quickly, but I drink them up. I greedily take them all as though I have no self-control around men like him. They offer intensity and I devour it as if it nourishes me somehow. Vaughn fed me this same way. It’s what I’m attracted to.
This attraction was, at one time, nearly fatal.
As my eyes drift close, my thoughts drift to the night I ran and never looked back.
“This way, Letty Spaghetti,” Vaughn grumbles as he drags me by my wrist down the dilapidated hallway of the apartment building we came to.
I tug at the short hem of my dress but it’s so tight it hardly moves. I settle for fingering my pearls that belonged to Momma in a nervous manner. Vaughn and I have been playing this game for months. The sane part of my brain that survives when the pills wear off tells me I’m a prostitute. This is not my boyfriend. He’s my pimp. But prostitutes get paid, don’t they? What does it make me if he forces me to have sex and I see nothing in return?
A slave.
It makes me his damn sex slave.
Anger begins to bubble up inside me. Earlier when he shoved the pill into my mouth, I tucked it into the side of my mouth between my teeth and cheek. He’s so used to me swallowing without complaint that when he looked, he didn’t really look. Just a simple glance. I managed to pull it out on the walk down to the car and tossed it into the bushes.
My brain is clear.
My heart is angry.
My soul is broken.
He stops in front of a door and knocks loudly. A large black man answers the door wearing a tight white wife beater, a beanie on his head, and a baggy pair of jeans that hang several inches off his hips showing his blue boxers.
“V, my man,” he greets in a deep voice. “I got your money, dawg.” He pulls a wad of bills rubber banded together and hands it to Vaughn.
Vaughn nods and fist bumps the guy. “I knew you were good for it, Fuzz.”
The guy named Fuzz lets his gaze roam over to me. “Your girlfriend? Damn, she fine.”
“Could be yours for the night if you got more cash,” Vaughn tells him.