Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“I got you, baby,” I growl, taking her hip and tilting it back just an inch. My cock plunges into her at a new angle, instantly driving her wild with need, and as she cries out again, I reach my hand around and dive deep between her thighs to rub tight circles over her clit.
Everything clenches, and as I roll her clit between my fingers, she detonates, coming hard. Her whole body shudders, and she collapses against the tree. She’s practically hanging from her wrists, locked in my tight grip as I fucking explode, coming right along with her and emptying my load deep inside her cunt.
“Oh, God,” she pants, her chest heaving with heavy breaths as I lean into her, needing a minute to find my composure.
I release her wrists, and her hands fall lifelessly by her sides as I take her waist and turn her to face me. I press back into her, keeping her pinned against the tree and hating the small cuts on her face from the bark, but to be honest, I don’t think she even realizes they’re there.
Finding the strength to lift her hand, she presses it against my chest, her palm flat against the design she inked into my skin. She visibly swallows, lifting her gaze to mine, struggling to find words. “You terrify me,” she finally says, her pulse thrumming wildly at the base of her throat.
I hold her gaze and slowly nod, my hand digging into my pocket. “I know,” I tell her, unapologetically. And with that, I reach out and watch as my syringe pierces her flesh before pushing a strong sedative. Her eyes widen just a fraction, a soft gasp on her lips, and before she even gets a word out, she crumbles right into my arms.
38
KYAH
My head spins as I open my eyes, peering into a darkened room lit only by a flickering industrial light above me. I groan, trying to figure out where the fuck I am as a repetitive drip, drip, drip, echoes through the room, each little drip like a bullet straight through my skull.
My vision fades in and out of focus as my pounding head wills me to close my eyes and fall into a deep unconsciousness, but something warns me that I need to have my wits about me, that something isn’t right here.
My brows furrow, and I groan as I try to roll over. Only something catches on my wrists, and as I peer through the darkness, I find a silver cuff around my wrist, connected to a heavy chain, and the moment I make out the unfamiliar bed beneath me, everything starts coming back.
Nat’s house. Alex’s text. Running. My heart pounding. The fear. I hit the park, my feet getting all cut up beneath me, and then he caught me. I remember the way my heart raced, how conflicted I was. Terror warring with desire until he finally demanded an answer. What did I want?
Him. Always him.
He fucked me right there in the middle of the thick trees in Central Park, made me scream until my throat was raw, and then I came, but it wasn’t like the other times he’s brought me to the edge. This was animalistic. Wild and needy. I cried out for more, and he gave me exactly what I needed as though he knew my body better than I ever will, and after drowning in a sea of undeniable pleasure, he . . . fuck.
It all went dark.
There was a brief flash of a syringe followed by a sharp pinch at the base of my neck, and then . . . nothing.
Trying to ignore the fear in my chest, I look around the room. It’s small, and judging by the metal shelving and old cans of non-perishable foods, this has got to be some kind of forgotten storm cellar. The bed I lay on is dirty, nothing but an old, stained mattress with a single pillow. The room has a damp, musky smell to it as though the leak currently doing my head in has been there for quite some time.
Testing the cuff and chains, I pull on my wrist, and while the chains have a little bit of slack, allowing me to venture out from the bed, the cuff is securely in place, making it clear that this is not Alex’s first rodeo. Hell, the old rusty stains on the ground could have told me that, only it’s not rust at all—it’s blood.
I’m not the first woman he’s kept down here, not the first woman he’s cuffed and chained. The only question is, where the hell do we go from here? Surely he doesn’t intend to let me live after he’s taken it this far. I can identify him, and considering what he did to his mother, I’m sure I wouldn’t have to work very hard to ensure he’s put behind bars. So why the hell is that the last thing I want for him?