Touch of Hate Read Online J.L. Beck, Cassandra Hallman

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Forbidden, Mafia, Romance Tags Authors: ,
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Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
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She’s too busy hanging onto me, an arm around my neck. I’m her life raft on a stormy sea, stormy thanks to the way my touch takes the strength out of her legs. She needs me if she wants to stay on her feet. She needs me.

I feel like a king the instant before I cup her mound. Desire threatens to consume me, but I fight my way through the dizzying waves of heat, ignoring their sizzle in favor of making her burn.

Fuck. She’s already halfway there, moisture beginning to seep into her panties, the flesh beneath them hot and plump.

She slumps a little, her body all but melting into the wall, legs parting farther to leave room for my entire hand to cover her center. The heel of my palm lines up with her mound, and I press in, rubbing in small circles. Her chest rises and falls so rapidly that I’m positive she is panting. Her nails sink deep into the flesh at my neck.

I relish the sensation, one that rides the thin edge between pain and pleasure. If I have my way, she’ll break the skin by the time this is over. I’ll consider this a failure if blood isn’t running down my back by the time I slip out of her life again.

But not really. I never will entirely.

Fuck, I need more. This isn’t enough.

Leaning down, I touch the side of my face to her temple. I wish we were skin-to-skin, but at least now I can inhale her light, floral perfume. There’s a hint of vanilla beneath the lavender, and all it does is stir the mental image of devouring her. Not only her pussy, but all of her.

If it meant absorbing her sweetness and carrying it with me always, that’s exactly what I would do. I need her that badly. She’s that necessary in my life.

The sounds she makes, audible now that her mouth is close to my ear, could drive a man to his knees. She’s purring like a kitten.

“Oh… oh god,” she moans, making me increase the pressure over her clit. It’s nowhere near what either of us truly wants, but it’s good enough for now, enough to make her bear down on me and grind that pretty little pussy against my hand.

Take it. Take what you need.

There’s so much I want to give her, almost as much as I long for what I know she’d give me. Her fingers in my hair. Her sweet, soft kisses. The way she moans my name—no one has ever said it the way she does, turning it into a prayer.

The best I can do is imagine it, replaying in my head the sound of her coming apart thanks to my tongue against what she’s now grinding on me.

Ren… Ren… I close my eyes, giving myself over to the memory. The fantasy. She knows it’s me, the only man who’ll ever touch her this way. None of the useless pricks dancing and drinking and fucking around could do this to her. They wouldn’t know where to start.

Because they don’t know her.

Not like I do.

“Please… don’t stop…” she whimpers over the music, over the roar of blood in my ears.

My teeth grind, and I almost have to bite my tongue to keep from encouraging her. To stop myself from whispering her name and telling her how sweet she is, how fucking hot it is when she grinds her hips, shaking, clinging to me. She’s seeking out her release as best she can.

How powerful this is. Undoing her. Making the angel’s halo hang crooked—even the silly costume halo is askew now. Somehow that bit of imperfection only makes her more perfect. More mine.

This isn’t enough. If I can’t drive my tongue between her lips and lap up every last drop like it’s the last thing I’ll ever taste, I’ll at least have her on my fingers. At least I’ll leave this party carrying her on me.

She arches against me when I shove the panties to the side, practically peeling the sodden fabric away from her plump lips to allow my fingers to probe her slit. A shudder rolls through me—so wet, dripping, and all because of my touch. My command of her body.

There’s something dangerous about this. Illicit. As illicit as the desire that’s plagued me all these years. It’s the danger that makes everything hotter.

More intense.

Like the intensity of Scarlet’s reaction when I touch her bare skin. Her slick, sensitive folds. How I’d love to sink my fingers into her, drive them deep and fuck her while the party rages on.

With conscious effort, I shove the idea away before it takes root and takes us down a road she hasn’t traveled yet. She’s still a virgin; she has to be. There hasn’t been a man but me in her life.



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