Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
What is this?
Why is he so close?
Why does it drive me to delicious insanity?
Both of his hands come up to curl over my shoulders. With impressive strength, he pushes me until my shoulder blades dig into the wall.
I’m trapped.
I’m pinned in his powerful hold, unable to move or get away.
I’ve been in a situation like this before with Sean and I was useless against him.
Will Jude abuse his power like Sean did?
Or will he prove to me that not all big, intense, grumpy men are cruel?
Only time will tell and it’s not like I’m going anywhere.
Jude
What am I doing?
Honestly, I don’t know. All I do know is I like having his small frame trapped in my unyielding grip. Knowing that even if he tried to escape me, he wouldn’t be able to. Right now, he’s mine.
Mine to do what?
Unable to stop myself, I lean in, grazing my mask along his neck. He smells soapy and addictive. I wish I could bury my nose against his flesh and spend the whole night smelling him skin to skin.
My heart is hammering wildly out of control. I’m afraid to move for fear of doing something I won’t be able to take back.
Like what, horndog? Fuck him?
I stifle a groan at the delicious fantasies beginning to take shape in my mind. Since he’s not pushing me away, I’d like to think he’d allow me to have my filthy way with him. Maybe he would beg for it.
My cock has been rock-hard since he placed his hand on my thigh at dinner. Even after I lubed up my fist and shot my load in the bathroom sink, it didn’t sate me. I wanted his hand on my cock, not mine.
“Jude,” Tate murmurs, hot breath tickling the side of my neck. “What are you doing?”
I close my eyes but refuse to move away from him. “Thinking.”
“You’re thinking awfully hard. I can almost hear your thoughts.”
The idea of Tate inside my twisted head makes me shudder. I don’t need anyone to ever see the chaotic shitstorm I live with each day. Especially not Tate. He’s too sweet for the likes of what he’d uncover and I refuse to be what ruins him.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, wishing like hell I could rip this stupid mask off. “What do you hear?”
He shifts in my grip, but since I’m holding his shoulders so tight, he barely moves. “You’re struggling with something. Something to do with me.”
I hate that I’m so obvious, but I am pinning him to the wall like he’s my prize and I’m deciding on which limb to feast on first.
“You confuse me,” I admit, voice raspy. “I thought I hated you, but this feeling is not hate.”
I pull back a slight bit to look into his eyes. His pupils are blown and cheeks pink. I’m fixated on his plump lips, especially the bottom one. He tugs at it with his top teeth.
“Do you want to kiss me?” His whispered question sends thrills shooting through every nerve ending.
Kiss him?
Hell yeah, I want to kiss him.
I want to fuse my lips to his and taste his sweetness straight from the source.
“No,” I lie. “I-I can’t.” The second part is the truth.
“Because you don’t think you deserve to feel pleasure or because you refuse to take off your mask?”
A dark chuckle barks out of me. “Can the answer be both?”
My hold on his shoulders has loosened. I realize I’m rubbing gentle circles against them with my thumbs. Tate makes me more insane than I already am. I can’t think straight or control my physical reactions around him.
“You deserve to be happy,” he says softly, sadness making his eyes glimmer. “And you can take your mask off with me. I won’t judge you.”
His words are a siren’s song, tempting me closer and closer to the treacherous shore. I want to believe him. I really, really do.
“I can’t do it,” I murmur, hating myself more than ever.
Tate reaches along the wall and then flips the light switch. We’re bathed in immediate darkness. My frozen spine thaws, relaxing me a bit.
“May I?” he asks, palms skimming up my chest over my hoodie toward my neck. “I can’t see.”
No.
No. No. No.
Fuck no.
“Y-Yes,” I croak out, unable to deny this decadent fantasy that seems so close I can taste it.
He makes a small keening sound of pleasure that wakes my dick right up. I slide my hands down to his hips, gripping my fingers into his lower back as I wait for him to do the inevitable.
His fingertips brush over the bottom of my mask as he seeks it out in the dark. Then, slowly, he begins lifting it. Cool air feathers over my face that’s damp with perspiration. He pulls the mask completely off and then it hits the floor with a soft thwump.
“You deserve to be happy,” Tate says firmly, as though he can drill it into my head.