Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
It works like a charm. I’ve never been less interested in the thought of pussy than I am right now. But that isn’t going to last, and I can’t stay in the shower forever. I’m going to want her again and again.
She has no idea of the control she has over me. Just like she has no understanding of what I could be sacrificing. Of course, I would never go along with River’s decision against bringing her here. That was a no-brainer.
But it does mean causing a rift that’s been steadily growing with every mention of her.
She has the power to make me forget what used to be so clear. How the bastards who destroyed our lives deserve to suffer… endlessly.
And if she can make me forget that, however briefly, what hope do I have of staying strong in the face of lust?
No. I will not hurt her.
The thought of ever causing her pain strengthens me and leaves me washing up quickly and turning off the shower. When I reframe this situation that way, looking at it through the eyes of a man who doesn’t want to hurt the woman he loves, it’s all clear again. I’m not an animal, even if she makes me feel like one. I can control my desires.
Or so I tell myself a split second before she moans my name. Drawing it out, promising fulfillment beyond my wildest dreams.
The sound leaves me closing my eyes again, touching my forehead to the wood of the bathroom door. It would hurt her. You can’t hurt her.
If I could only get that through her head.
My jaw is clenched almost as tightly as my fists as I approach the room in which Scarlet is losing her mind, thanks to what that powerful little bullet is doing to her. She’s sweating in earnest now, hair stuck to her forehead and along her temple, her body rolling from side to side while she rubs her thighs together like a demented cricket.
When her gaze lands on me, standing in the doorway with nothing but a towel around my waist, her guttural cry threatens to break the very thin thread of resolve I’m still clutching with all my might.
“Please, make it stop,” she begs, the bed creaking in time with her frenzied movements.
Fuck. How am I supposed to refuse her, deny her the pleasure she so badly seeks.
“How would you like me to do it?”
“Touch me. Please, let me come,” she sobs, tears cutting tracks down her cheeks.
I am her god at this moment. Only I can give her what she needs most.
It’s that thought—and the way she sobs, how broken she sounds—that has me taking pity on her. Without a word, I cross the space between us and take the cord to the vibrator in my hand. Giving it a firm tug, I pull it free and watch as her arousal leaks out onto the sheets.
Fuck me. I want to lick the sheets where she lies, devour her from the inside out until she is pleading with me to stop. There’s just one thing in my way. My ironclad willpower to make things good for her and be the man she needs.
She gasps, hips lifting, before another broken cry fills the room. “I’m so close. Oh my god, please...Ren.”
I can’t tease her anymore. Not when I understand all too well the agony she’s going through. “Just relax, angel,” I whisper before touching the vibrator to the tip of her engorged clit.
Her shriek leaves me trembling. “Oh! Oh, yes! More!” Her thighs are spread wide open—I should get this over with quickly, or I might forget my principles—with her shining, inviting pussy just begging to be filled.
Because I can’t shove my cock into her, I press the bullet against her flesh, holding it in place, watching intently as a look of pure, radiant relief washes over her, transforming agony into ecstasy. “Yes! Yes, oh god! I’m coming!”
Then anything else she wanted to say is lost as she rides out wave after wave of tremors, her thighs clamping shut, squeezing my forearm between them. I watch as the flush takes hold, making her skin glow, her juices drenching my fingers.
For her sake and for mine, I pull the bullet away as soon as she relaxes, then turn it off. She’s panting like an athlete at the end of a marathon, which in a way, I suppose she is. I’ve really put her through it tonight.
And she took it. She took it all. Being proud of her now doesn’t feel right, but I am just the same.
By the time her breathing takes on a more regular rhythm, I’m dressed again and untying her wrists. Her arms fall to the mattress, and instantly, I regret the welts left by the belt.
“Does it hurt?” I whisper, rubbing them as gently as I can.