Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
She studied me for a while before she moved to the couch and straddled my hips. Her fingers moved between her thighs and unclasped the bottom so it would open, her sex easily accessible.
My eyes were forced to look at her, to smell her, to feel the tension ebb away just from having her on top of me. Images of us together in front of the fireplace on the floor of her cabin came back to me, her body covered in sweat because she worked so hard to fuck me, to get the two of us off repeatedly.
When she pulled on my boxers, my hips automatically rose so she could get them off. My hand set the glass on the table beside me, and my dick went from soft and angry to hard and eager.
Her hand cupped my face, and she kissed me, her hair falling down around me and blanketing me in a curtain of her smell, and she directed me inside her as she slid down over my length, her pussy perfectly coated with arousal to take me without foreplay.
Like she’d been thinking about me all day.
I closed my eyes and moaned against her lips as she sheathed me with the best pussy of my life.
Her arms hooked around my neck as she kept her face close to mine, and she fucked me the way I liked, good and slow, rocking her hips exactly how I’d shown her.
All the bullshit with my brother went out the window as I enjoyed my woman. And fuck, did I enjoy her.
“You make me forget.” She breathed against my mouth as she continued to force me inside her, grinding her hips at the end of every drop to let me feel her more intimately before rising once again. “I can make you forget…”
Eleven
Fidelity
Melanie
We spent most of our nights together, but I always woke up alone.
He would either carry me to my bedroom, or he would leave mine after I fell asleep.
I didn’t demand a change because I knew I would never get it.
When he’d brought me here, I’d expected something more. I expected him to want me all the time, to have me by his side constantly. But our relationship was the same as it’d been in the cabin, where he would visit me when he felt like it, then ignore me the rest of the time.
I should be grateful to be spared, but my solitude was far more horrific than his company. Everything had been taken from me, and even if he was the one who took my sister away, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him.
My relationship with him somehow felt separate from my captivity, which didn’t make any sense. I shouldn’t feel affection for him, but I did. To everyone else, he was the boss, the man in charge of a vile camp that claimed the freedom of innocent women, including my sister and myself. But to me, he was the man who didn’t force me to do anything. He waited for my consent. He took care of me when other men would consider me high-maintenance. He was surprisingly soft at times, always caring about the tears I shed, when he didn’t seem to care about anything else.
He always had something nice to say about me…when no one else ever did.
Fender left that morning, and he hadn’t returned. He never told me where he was going, and I didn’t try to ask. I tried to keep myself busy by taking a walk through his grounds and admiring all the flowers he bothered to upkeep. He seemed like a man who didn’t care about that sort of thing. Then I walked through the house and admired all the paintings on the walls.
There were a lot.
His home had to be twenty-thousand square feet, and every wall had some kind of piece, something evocative and beautiful. I moved from one to the next, seeing watercolors and lily pads that reminded me of the pond in the front of his estate.
“Melanie, lunch is ready.” Gilbert was never pleasant toward me. When he spoke to me, it was like giving an order. When he spoke to Fender, there was more than just an employee kissing the ass of his boss. There was genuine affection there, genuine respect. He immediately walked off without waiting for a response.
I looked at the painting for a moment longer before I walked to the dining table in the garden room, my favorite place to have lunch. Gilbert set the plate in front of me, and the serving was different from usual. It was much smaller, and there were no desserts.
He must have noticed my quizzical expression because he said, “You’re gaining weight.” Like that wasn’t rude at all, he grabbed the teapot and set it on the table along with my lunch.