Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
And just when I thought you did succeed in sucking my soul through my dick like a succubus, you looked at me.
Your eyes were droopy and your cheeks were flushed, and you had this look of challenge mixed with seductiveness.
And you bet your fucking ass that I rose up to it and hit the back of your throat until you spluttered and made these sounds that shoved me all the way down to my designated spot in fucking hell.
I came all the way down your little throat and you swallowed as much as you could, but my cum still dripped down your chin and coated those beautiful lips, smudging the red lipstick all over your face.
You marked by my cum as you gulped it down is a sight I will never forget.
Best imaginary blowjob I’ve ever had.
But like any dream, I woke up and you weren’t there. I couldn’t be a dick and torture you to orgasm.
I couldn’t even imagine touching you.
Funny, right? We used to talk about porn like two boys who stole their dads’ dirty magazines, but we never really talked about it between each other.
But you went ahead, appeared in my dreams, and blew me as if you had every right to.
You don’t, Yuki-Onna.
Next time, just stick with sucking my soul.
Thanks, but not really,
Akira
24
Sebastian
I fall into a black fucking hole.
No. That’s not supposed to happen.
Yes. I was doing perfectly well pretending that the world wasn’t burning down around me.
For seven years, I’ve managed so well to stay away. Although I had a nasty habit of googling her name at the beginning.
Of pestering Lucy, Naomi’s friend from college, to find out where she was.
I spent sleepless nights going through every portal and profile with the name Naomi or Naomi Sato because I sure as shit couldn’t find her with her old surname. Her social media accounts were gone as if they never existed.
She never paid much attention to those, anyway, so I didn’t hold up much hope in finding her through them.
For months, I searched.
For months, I fucking obsessed.
My violent tendencies took the front seat and drove my life up the wall. I lost count of the number of times Nate had to stop me from punching someone to death and then got them to settle before they sued me.
After months in that state, I realized I was slowly killing myself and I needed to stop or I’d end up giving my grandparents the satisfaction of saying ‘I told you so.’
And in order to move past the asshole I was at the time, I deleted my search history and let the bloody knife fester inside me with its blood.
I didn’t search for her again. Didn’t google her name. Didn’t even talk to Lucy except on the rare occasion when we bumped into each other for the games we attend for Owen’s sake—who’s now a hotshot NFL player.
So why the fuck am I staring at a thousand tabs with her name on them again?
Why the fuck can’t I step on the brakes?
Maybe because I saw her face again and I sure as fuck know her last name now.
Naomi Mori. The wife of Akira Mori.
I want to jam my fist through my laptop screen and somehow yank his last name from hers.
The more I read about them, the thicker the red mist that covers my vision gets, and I can feel myself relapsing into old fucking habits.
The Mori couple is known to be private, classy, and have a general regal presence that rivals my grandparents.
She’s smiling with her hand on his arm in all the pictures of them together. There’s a shot of them at a temple in the New Year’s festivities in Japan. She’s wearing a white kimono with dark blue flower motifs and he’s in a yukata that matches the color of her motifs.
Her favorite fucking color.
Naomi laughs, tipping her head back as he whispers something in her ear with a smirk. I jam my laptop shut so I don’t throw it against the wall.
I run a hand over my face and take a few deep breaths. But nothing I do is able to chase away the haze.
Nothing is able to dispel the fucking curse. Except for maybe beating Akira Mori to death and bathing in his blood.
There’s a knock on the door and I grunt, “Come in.”
Candice appears in the doorway and jams a hand on her hip. “You need to see this.”
I stand because I’m ready to indulge in any type of distraction.
My assistant walks beside me as we head to the open office area that’s designated for interns and junior associates.
Daniel and Knox are gathering all the interns and standing on a small pedestal. The females look at them with awe and the males regard them as if they’re role models and they want to follow in their footsteps.