Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I cry, my frustration building with each awful thought. “Ava, fucking fuck, fuck, fuck!”
The sound of a gasp disturbs my cursing fit, and I feel her jerk. “Oh God,” she says over a sigh.
My eyes fly open. I’m sweating. Shaking. A mess. “Ava, all of your pleasure comes from me.”
“Not today.” Her eyes close, robbing me of the stunning shimmer. It’s salt in my wounds.
“Ava,” I yell, wriggling some more. “Fuck! Ava, you’re pushing it!”
“Hmm.”
I can’t take any more. This is torture at its worst. My head feels like it’s going to pop, my hand is fucking killing me, my eyes bleeding, my heart out of control. “I’m thirty-seven,” I bellow.
Ava gasps. In shock?
I can see her mentally calculating the years between us.
“For fuck’s sake woman, I’m thirty-fucking-seven.”
I watch as the vibrator falls to the bed, making a mental note of where it lands so I can destroy the impostor once I’m free.
“Take . . . the . . . fucking . . . cuffs . . . off.” I glare at her, not relishing the worried look that drifts across her face.
The warmth of her palms meets my thighs, and I watch as she slowly crawls up my body, resting her lips on mine and threading her hands through my hair. It feels so good, but I can’t shake the bubbling anger. What the hell is wrong with me? She’s taken the power, and I am not okay with that. “I still love you.” Her words ease my trepidation slightly, but not enough.
“Good, now take the cuffs off.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“Fucking crazy mad, Ava.” She’s won. I’ll be paying for this eternally.
She sits up on my lap, assessing me, and then forces a cheeky smile. “Can’t you be crazy in love?”
“I’m that too. Remove the cuffs.”
She goes to move and relief floods me, but then I feel the ready warmth of her entrance brush over me. It sends me over the edge. Tips me. “Damn it, Ava. Take the fucking cuffs off.”
“What are you going to do?”
I hate myself for filling her with obvious alarm, but I’m pretty certain she’s not as anxious as I am right now. I’m pissed with her for being so crafty, and even more pissed with myself for letting her win this.
“Take them off.”
“Not until you tell me what you’re going to do.”
What I’m going to do? She’s worried about the repercussions. Good. “I’m going to fuck you until you beg me to stop, and then you’re going to run fourteen miles.” I raise my head a little. “And we won’t be stopping for a muscle rub or a coffee break.”
“I don’t want to go for a run,” she says coolly. “You can’t make me.”
“Ava, you need to remember who holds the power in this relationship.” I’m surprised by her front, and even more surprised by my continued arrogance. I’m in no position to be throwing such statements around, and her horrified face confirms it.
“I’m sorry, who has the power?” she retorts, resolute and smug.
And there we have it. She knows. She fucking knows what’s happening here. I’m powerless, and that is not a place I can afford to be. “Ava, I’m warning you.”
“I can’t believe you’re being so cranky over this. It was okay for you to handcuff me.”
“I was in control,” I roar, deranged.
“You’re a power freak,” she yells back, and I wriggle a little more, just for something to do other than say stupid shit. “I’m going to get a shower.”
“I’m only a power freak with you,” I shout as she leaves me on the bed. Wait. A shower? Now? What about me? “Ava!”
The bathroom door slams, and I’m alone, simmering with anger and uncertainty. I can hear the spray start, a small whimper escaping me at the mental image of her rubbing soap all over her body. I have issues. Big fucking issues. She loves me, I know for sure, but there’s so much that can make her change her mind on that—more important shit than my fucking age.
I slump back, utterly exhausted and wondering . . . what the fuck now? After she’s showered, what then? She’s got to release me at some point.
Hasn’t she?
I narrow one eye on the door. Huff a few times. Slam my head back down to the pillow, and I lie there for what seems like forever, restrained, my mind racing, until I finally hear the door open and look up to see her wander into the room wrapped in a towel. I pout to myself. She’s showered without me. I’ve been deprived of an opportunity to clean her, wash her hair, look after her, and that’s plain cruel.
I’m fucked.
My conclusion is a torture session and an age confession too late, but I’ve finally arrived at a reasonable state of mind. I can’t make demands while handcuffed to the bed. I can’t enforce them while in this state. So I have no choice but to change my tact. “Baby,” I purr softly. “Come and free me, please.”