Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
His voice is still husky from the grunts he swallowed while stroking his cock when he replies, “I’ll have housekeeping bring you some tomorrow.” He licks his lips before raising his eyes to my face. “You are not to leave my room until they arrive. Do you understand?”
I nod before drifting my eyes to my portion of the bed. I can’t get to it without climbing over him, and he doesn’t seem eager to move any time soon.
“Get in bed, маленький ягненок.”
Again, I nod before sheepishly endeavoring to climb over him. It is no easy feat with how long his legs are, not to mention the fact he’s not really sitting up. He’s in a weird, slouched position that makes the connection of our bodies almost impossible.
When I slump on top of the bedding, he appears desperate to look at me, but he can’t since the changeup will unshadow the scarred side of his face. “Goodnight.”
“Night,” I murmur before attempting to stay as still as possible.
That is more challenging than climbing over him. I’m still hot from our staredown across the cube, not to mention the riveting show after it.
After several long minutes, Ghost squashes his left ear to his pillow. It is a position he’s never adopted in the past several days, and it sends my heart rate skyrocketing.
Whenever we’ve interacted, it is always when the right side of his face is hidden, and although the almost pitch-black night keeps most of his features on the down-low, I can see the faintest flutters of his thick eyelashes as he rakes his eyes down my still form.
The volume of his voice is so low I have to prick my ears to hear him when he asks, “Do you understand what tonight was about?” Confusion must cross my face as he is quick in his endeavor to fix it. “At the cube?”
I shake my head, unsure I can speak.
“It is like a last hurrah. A final display of the freedom we have on this ship.” My throat dries when he drops his tone even lower. “Things won’t be like this once we dock. No decisions will be yours to make. Not even whose man’s head is between your legs.” I can’t tell if he is snickering about my quick balk or groaning about it. However, he doesn’t seek clarification before pushing our conversation into dangerous, murky waters. “Have you ever?”
I wait, confident that can’t be the entirety of his question.
When my pause adds to the tension burning between us, I ask, “Have I ever what?”
A jolt spasms through my pussy when he mutters, “Orgasmed.”
Too stunned to speak, I shake my head.
“Then you should. Tonight.”
I forget I’m talking to the man who controls my every move when I murmur, “With who?”
His growl is dangerous, and it prickles every fine hair on my body. “With yourself, маленький ягненок.”
“I-I can’t do that.” Although he made it look easy tonight, self-pleasure isn’t something I can do.
“Why not?” I can’t see his mouth since his interrogation forced my eyes to the ceiling, but I sense his challenging grin. He likes making me uncomfortable. I have no clue why. I’m not a bumbling idiot when I’m forced out of my comfort zone. I merely hide in my shell.
“Be-because it’s against the rules.”
His miffed huff fans my cheek with hot air. “Who said?”
“Um…” I swallow down the unease creeping up my esophagus. “No one, I guess. It was kind of implied.”
“Implied by you or them?” When I slant my head to the side, he snaps out, “Eyes front and center, маленький ягненок.” Once they’ve returned to the bland and uninviting scenery, he asks again, “Implied by who?”
My stomach gurgles when I murmur, “Perhaps me.”
“No, perhaps. Who implied it.”
Uneased by his angry tone, I push out, “By me. It was enforced by me.”
“Why?” His tone is back to friendly, and it gives me a severe case of whiplash.
“Because I have no clue what I’m doing.”
“Then you should learn. Now.”
I laugh at him. “How? By stabbing around in the dark and hoping I’ll stumble onto what feels good.”
His low, grunted tone activates fireworks in my stomach. “By asking someone who knows where to touch.” He scoots closer. “Who knows what they’re doing.” A touch of harshness returns to his voice when he murmurs, “Self-stimulation is the only form of pleasure you’ll get here on out, so you better learn fast what feels good before you die without experiencing a single orgasm.”
Why does he say that as if it is a fact more than an assumption?
“Touch yourself, маленький ягненок. Eyes to the front!” His last roared sentence is a result of my eyes darting to his in shock.
He couldn’t have just said what I thought he did.
He couldn’t possibly want me to please myself in front of him.
“I’m not allowed,” I eventually murmur when his breaths hitting my neck turn my brain to mush. “My pleasure is not my own. I am meant to obey—”