Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 573(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 573(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
The slap is as painful as it is shocking, and a light sting ripples across my cheek. He repeats the action, and the air expels from my chest at the next slap, my gut clenching. Tears prick my eyes, I don’t want to cry, don’t want to beg him to stop because I don’t want to be weak, but all he’s done is spank me twice, and my ass is already burning.
At the next slap, I whimper, and even as pain radiates across my ass, a warmth forms deep in my core. It’s sickening that such a heinous act is making me want him more. My treacherous body craves his touch without understanding the consequences. He will break me, rip me apart, take all the good from me, and lock me in a cage and throw away the key. He’s already done so, and he’ll do worse now that I tried to escape.
I can’t even comprehend what happens next. My ass throbs as he gives me ten more slaps on each cheek. It’s not meant to bring pleasure; this, I know. The sting and pain running along my ass intensifies further, and by the time he finishes, I’m sobbing into the mattress.
I’m frightened, my ass burning, but there is more beneath the pain, and I hate that I feel it, hate that he brings the worst out in me. I don’t want him, this man that plans to kill my father and use my body for whatever he wants, but I do. I still crave him, wanting him to touch me more.
The fragile trust we formed seems to have cracked down the middle, splitting in two. I might have caused part of this, but he delivered the final blow.
Even in the wake of pain, he massages my aching flesh, and I flinch at his touch, trying to ignore the way he cares for me only after inflicting pain.
I feel him move behind me; a shiver runs through me at the thought of what’s gonna happen next. His hands are on either side of my butt, kneading the tender flesh. When he pulls my cheeks apart, I gasp, ready to scream, but then I feel his warm breath fanning against my skin.
Before I can ask what the hell he is doing, I feel his hot, wet tongue on my center. I have to bite my cheek so hard I can taste blood just so I won’t moan. He drags his tongue through my folds. He starts at my clit and slowly licks up, over my entrance, but he doesn’t stop there. He keeps going until he is circling my other hole.
I want to object, want to tell him to stop, but the truth is, I have to force myself from pushing my ass out and into his face. How can something so wrong, so dirty, feel so good?
Shoving my face into the mattress, I pray that he doesn’t hear my muffled moan when he pushes the tip of his tongue into the tight ring. My whole body shudders, begging for release as my core reaches fever-pitch.
And then… he pulls away. Cool air rushes over my heated flesh as he gets up. His hands leave my butt and travel up and over my back until they reach my shoulders.
“This was meant to punish you.”
“I hate you…” I growl into the sheets, struggling against his gentle touch. I don’t want his kindness. I don’t want anything but to be left alone, so I can forget how I was starting to fall for my captor when I should’ve been trying to run the whole time.
“Do you? Or do you hate that I’m not letting you come?”
“I just hate you!”
“Well, I can’t wait to see how much you hate me after this next part.” The edge to his voice terrifies me, and when he flips me over, I snarl, kicking my feet out at him to get away.
Chuckling, he easily subdues me and pulls me off the bed and pushes me down to my knees. He grabs me by the chin and forces me to look at him and nowhere else. My lashes are heavy with tears, and my cheeks cold and stained with tears.
My tears and pain don’t seem to have an effect on him, though.
“I’m going to use your mouth, and you’re going to let me.”
Frantically, I search his face, trying to find even a sliver of emotion that I might be able to latch on to, but his mask is firm and in place. The man I’ve come to know—that I’ve peeled the layers back on is gone.
His stormy blue eyes are lifeless, his features sharper like the edge of a knife pressed against my throat, he’s going to slice me open and watch the blood drain onto the floor.
Reaching for his belt, he quickly undoes it, and then his pants, shoving them down to the floor. He’s completely nude beneath, and his steel-hard penis rises like a skyscraper between us. How can he be turned on after hurting me?