Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 141255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“I’ll fuckin’ kill them,” he growled.
I let out a staggered breath.
“Get in the car,” he snarled and I stepped away and he opened the door and I did what I was told. He slammed it.
He drove back to his condo like an angry lunatic racecar driver. He took my hand as I stepped out of the SUV and not looking at me strode to the elevator, still radiating fury. Inside of it, once the doors closed, he took his keychain and then thrust a key into a keyhole on the button panel for an express ride up and then hit his floor button and we started to go up. He didn’t look at me. He stared at the buttons lighting our way upwards, still holding my hand. His hold was gentle but his face was radiating anger more intensely than I’d seen from him so far. The elevator stopped on his floor and then when the elevator doors opened, before I knew what was happening, he put a shoulder to my belly and hauled me over his shoulder. I squeaked in surprise as we were quickly down the hall and then I heard him put his key in the hole and then hit buttons on his alarm panel.
The next thing I knew, I was on my back on his bed and my clothes were being ripped off of me. His eyes were heated, hot damn, were they heated. I went to help with my clothes and he ordered, “No. Don’t move.” I threw my arms over my head, panting with arousal.
In a flash, he had my shoes, jeans, hoodie, socks, tank top, bra, and panties off and I was naked. He ripped his own clothes off and then he was on his back and I was whipped around so that I was straddling him. His angry fiery eyes glinted with amusement all of a sudden.
“Three guesses on what I want from you right now but I don’t think you’ll need two and three.”
I swallowed hard, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. Then I opened them and looked at him coquettishly and said, in a southern drawl, “Would my Master like me to ride him?”
His teeth skimmed his bottom lip and he shook his head in astonishment. And then his grip on my hips tightened but he said nothing. Oh yeah. That’s what my Master wanted.
“Well, he is hung like a horse…” I added and batted my eyelashes, watching a twinkle light his eyes. I reached down and guided him inside of me and I rode my Master. I rode him like I was competing for the trophy not just for Juneau but for the World.
I couldn’t think straight. I was torn between wanting to be in the moment with her, enjoying this beautiful body and her efforts to bring me pleasure and put on a fuck-hot show for me.
She was incredible at it, but I was struggling because I had a war going on in my brain where I saw blood.
I saw dead Gan Chen, dead Rafe Ruiz, dead Asian bitch from hell. I saw the security guards I’d seen, the chauffeur, the housekeepers, bell boy, the gardener, and the pile of fucking sick goofs from that dinner party and on the top of the pile of dead bodies I saw a dead Tom Ferrano Sr. Because in my head I’d shot him, too. I’d shot every single one of them between the eyes one by one for the fact that they had taken 19 days to break her, to do whatever they did to kill the spirit of the girl that I’d seen in that bull-riding video.
I pushed the rage back. I had my dream girl here, right now. She was riding my cock and looking at me with utter fucking devotion on her face and she still had fire. In bed right now she was on fire and I was thoroughly convinced that as far as out of bed went, she had it deep and it was buried under a pile of brutal bone-chilling shit, but it was still there. It was fucking there; I was sure of it as I’d seen a few hints here and there. I never wanted to see her cower in fear from me again.
She was mine because my goddamn father bought her for me. Maybe the fire right now came partly from the fact that she had spent two years fucking in order to survive, but I would make sure it was real for me, that I’d make her feel safe and cared for so she’d have no reason to fake it with me. In my head my father on top of the pile of dead bodies had a knowing smug look on his face because he’d won, proved that I’d been another chip off the ‘ole block and would take his gift to me and keep her, keep my very own sex slave.