Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I lift my upper body, grabbing the back of her neck before she can even think about pushing herself up. Using my knees, I push her legs apart even farther so I can get nice and deep. Thrusting forward, I bury myself inside her to the hilt.
A strangled cry falls from her lips, and I loosen my grip on the back of her neck a little, making sure she can breathe.
“You feel me deep inside your ass?” My voice sounds almost distorted as I keep fucking her, my thrusts becoming more furious with each second. “Answer me,” I growl.
“Y-yes,” she stutters, her voice shaky like she is crying. A normal person would be bothered by her distress. I’m not normal. I’m depraved, twisted, and sick. Her pain is my joy, and her tears make me grin.
After a few more erratic thrusts, the familiar tingle begins in the base of my spine. A moment later, my balls tighten, and I paint her asshole with my cum. My orgasm seems to go on forever, and by the time it stops, I collapse on top of her.
Slowly, I come back down to earth. Sweat is beading on my forehead and dripping onto her shoulder. My chest is heaving, and my heart is slamming against my rib cage, but Rowan is beneath me completely still.
I push myself up and sit back on my knees so I can take a look at her. She still doesn’t move. Her legs are spread, giving me the perfect view of my cum dripping down her asshole onto her cunt. Christ, she is perfect.
Tucking away my still sensitive dick, I kneel beside her and roll her over. Her eyes are red from crying, which is a stark contrast to the black streaks of mascara running down the side of her face. The skirt is bunched up around her waist, and her torn-off panties are next to her in shreds.
With glossy eyes, she stares back at me. She doesn’t say anything, but there is a question in her eyes, like she wants to know what I’m going to do next.
What am I doing next? I don’t fucking know. Simply leaving doesn’t feel right.
Still not sure what I’m doing, I slide my arms under her body and pick her up from the floor. Her own arms come to my shoulders, gripping on to me like she fears I’ll drop her.
Her apartment is small, and there is only one other door besides the one leading to the hallway so that one has to be her bedroom. I walk inside, confirming it is by the twin-sized bed pushed against the wall.
Gently, I put her down on the mattress before finding my way to the bathroom. I take a washcloth from the cabinet and run hot water over it. By the time I return to the bed, the washcloth has cooled off, and I use it to clean her face. She closes her eyes and actually leans into my touch as I carefully wipe her skin.
Now that I have whipped away the mascara, I notice how her right cheek is an angry red. It was the one I was pressing down into the scratchy carpet, and a ping of guilt hits me. I hate leaving marks. The irony is not lost on me. I don’t care if I hurt her, I crave it even, but I don’t like there to be marks. It doesn’t have anything to do with me not wanting to leave evidence either. I simply don’t like marred skin.
When her face is done, I go back to the bathroom and repeat the process with the washcloth. Only this time, I clean between her legs. She winces at my touch but doesn’t push me away or tell me to stop. The words, good girl are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow the praise down simply because I enjoy the silence between us. There is no need to explain anything. She knows the kind of monster I am, and I know why she is letting me do this to her.
I help her out of her skirt and blouse before I cover her up with the thin comforter from the foot of her bed. Standing up, I take one last look around the small room, trying to shake how much I hate it that she lives here.
Before I can say something stupid, like you should live with me, I bend down and give her a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Two down, two to go.”
9
Rowan
I really wish I could get a handle on this guy.
And I really wish I understood why I want to get a handle on him at all. This is a temporary arrangement. There doesn’t have to be anything more to it than that. Like he said, two down. Two to go. And once that’s over, we’re finished. There doesn’t have to be anything more than that—and there shouldn’t be. I have no business in his world, no business with him.