Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Her hands started to move to her pussy, but she caught herself and clutched her knees instead. Good girl.
Leaning against her back, he trailed his fingers around her ribs, beneath her tits, crossed his arms around her waist, and hugged her to him. “How long have you been a shut in?”
“Two years, three months, and five days.” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes.
He scraped his stubble against her cheek. “What happened?”
Her finger tapped restlessly on her knee. “I got scared.”
“More scared than you are now?”
She nodded, swiftly and passionately.
Damn. He was no psychiatrist. But he knew how to manipulate to get what he wanted. “Does this” —he cupped her pussy— “have something to do with it?”
Her breaths quickened, and her face contorted in pain. Fuck, if she had a meltdown, he'd get nowhere. He moved his hand, placing it over her breastbone, and touched his lips to her ear. “I won't touch your pussy, but I want you to look at it and tell me what you see.”
“Why?” Her eyes roamed his face in the mirror, pleading. “What are we doing?”
He was digging too deep, too fast, but he wasn't a patient man. “Let's call it an exorcism. I'm not officially trained, but I'm well-versed in demons.”
She watched him, maybe hoping he'd change his mind. Or stalling. But she was a smart girl. She'd make the right choice.
Slowly, her eyes shifted, wandering the room. Then breath by breath, they lowered. Down, down, a little hitch in her chest brought them up before they lowered all the way.
He didn't prompt her, didn't move. He simply took in the splendor of the view between her legs.
Swollen, juicy lips formed a deep crevice of dark flesh, hiding the opening that had felt so fucking tight around his cock. Heat rushed to his groin, hardening him against his jeans and tightening his balls. The hood of her clit was still a beautiful shade of red from his teeth. He wanted to keep it that way.
Her voice shattered his reflective thoughts. “It's grotesque.”
What the fuck? He bit down on his tongue to keep his roar from escaping. After a few deep inhales, he asked softly, “Who told you that?”
Her lips pressed together, and her body turned to shivering stone in his arms. After another battle of glares in the mirror, she looked at her hands where they were fisted on her knees. “Lots of people.”
“I want names.” Blood rushed outward from his core, heated and violent, hardening his muscles around her. “Start with the first fucker who fed you that bullshit.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Whatever I want. Give me the name here or outside.” He was one second from hauling her naked body through the woods. Thank Christ, his closest neighbor was two-hundred treed acres away. He trusted the waist-high trip wires he'd set up around the perimeter. One touch and the alarm in the cabin would blare. “Choose.”
“Brent.” Her voice was so soft he would've missed it if he weren't reading her lips.
“Who the fuck is Brent?”
She closed her eyes, opened them, and found his in the mirror. “My ex-husband.”
He held his expression blank as his stomach bucked and burned. Not once in his research had he stumbled on an ex-husband. His first instinct was to blame the cocksucker for her disorders then find him and kill him. But he needed the story so he could show her how very wrong it was.
“Eyes on your pussy while you tell me exactly what he said. All of it, from start to finish.”
She shifted her ass on the handheld mirror, which gave them both another angle of her beautiful cunt. When her gaze lowered to it, she clenched her teeth. “I've never talked about this.”
He dropped his mouth to her shoulder and murmured, “I swear, Amber, I'll burn off my dick if I ever use this to hurt you.” He meant it with a startling passion.
She kept her eyes on her pussy, but her gaze shifted inward as she leaned her back against his chest, her shoulders curling forward. “We were at an after-party for the semi-finalists in an international beauty pageant. I might've won the competition, but I let my stupid insecurities destroy my chances, my career, my marriage. My life.”
Memories of that night two years ago built behind Amber's eyes as she stared at the flabby flesh between her legs. She wanted to hide it, to hide from it, but she couldn't look away. Exposing her shame and talking about it was fitting, right here, right now. When her fractured life couldn't sink any lower. With a man she should be repelling rather than attracting.
“It was the eve of the final competition.” Her voice wavered. “All the icons of the pageant industry were there.” The Master of Ceremony, former pageant winners, handpicked members of the media, and a host of celebrity models and photographers. “It was a night to impress and network with the who's who among the business.”