Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 26161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Her hand grips my wrist as a rush of air exhales from her lips. “Ren,” she gasps out, breathless and achingly desperate.
“Hate me, huh?” I smile, smug as shit. Her juices spread over my fingers. She’s fucking soaked, her pussy swollen and begging for attention. She doesn’t hate me.
“I do,” she pants as I slip a finger inside her tight cunt.
Her pupils dilate, her grip tightening on my wrist. She raises onto her tiptoes, pushing down on my arm, trying to force me out of her, but her fight isn’t as convincing as she wants it to be because not once has she tried to move away. Not once has she said no. Stop.
Fight me.
Tell me no, little lamb.
You want this.
I want this.
“You may hate me, Nat, but your body doesn’t. Quite the fucking opposite. Do you want me to take away your ache?” I whisper against her cheek. Her face turns away from me. “Look at me.”
“I can’t,” she sobs, dropping her feet down and allowing my finger to slide deeper inside her.
A delicious little mewl sounds from her lips, making my cock strain with need.
“I hate you.” Tears roll down her cheeks, but she rocks her hips forward. It’s subtle, but I feel her movements and sigh against her. She wants this, me.
I’ll bleed this fury from her quivering body, but not now. Not like this in a room soaked with the scent of sex from me and Amber.
Pulling my finger from inside her and my hand from her panties, I wipe my fingers over her lips, letting her taste her own need for me. “Keep telling yourself that you hate me. I guess I’m not the only liar in the room, Nat.”
Sniffling, she turns for the door and runs from the room.
My cock screams for me to chase her down. Devour the lamb like the wolf I am. But I don’t. Instead, I bring my fingers to my nose and inhale her sweet fucking scent before sucking them into my mouth and then stroking the ache from my cock to the taste of her on my tongue.
Four
I pace around my studio apartment, attempting to talk myself off the proverbial ledge. What the hell was I thinking last night? All day I couldn’t focus on my classes. One of my professors even yelled at me. Me! I’m usually a teacher’s favorite. Certainly don’t get yelled at for daydreaming. I call it nightmaring while awake.
Over and over again, images of the way his hand dove into my pants and touched me played in my mind. I hated it. I hate him.
Oh my God, I’m such a liar.
Which makes me a sick girl.
Truth is, I loved it. On some deep level, I was completely turned on. By a murderer. I wait for the normal venom and hate to be stabbed mentally at Ren, but tonight, I come up empty.
I didn’t kill her.
The same words he spoke to the jury, but this time, I actually felt doubt in my accusations. If he didn’t kill her, who did? Until last night, I hadn’t really considered another suspect. It was Ren. His smug grin and hot face weren’t fooling me.
But maybe my ability to read people sucks.
I thought I knew Kate. She was my best friend. We did everything together. Not everything. We told each other everything. Not everything.
So Kate was into kinky stuff and was too shy to tell me?
Or afraid I’d judge her.
Shame burns through me. I’ve been known to bark out my distaste over certain things while watching shows. I didn’t know it impacted her, though. Kept her from telling me her deepest, darkest secrets.
I’m sorry, Kate.
Had I known, maybe I could have gone with you. I could have protected you.
I think back to the week before she died. She’d vaguely mentioned seeing someone. Never mentioned his name, but told me he wore expensive suits and was going to be famous one day.
Ren doesn’t wear suits.
I rush into my bedroom and pull out her box of belongings I was allowed to keep that her parents didn’t want. Our old apartment was gorgeous and overlooked the good parts of the city. My new apartment is lonely and faces a brick wall. I’d live in an apartment in the ghetto as long as I had her back and lived with her. God, I miss her.
The box is mostly filled with pictures of us, a bunch of notebooks she was always doodling in, and other miscellaneous stuff that I picked up from our place that reminded me of her. I flip through the notebooks, searching for more clues.
I come across a note scribbled between big drawings of roses that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
He doesn’t love her. She’s an accessory to him. I’m real. I know he won’t marry her. Not when he has me on the side. I know what he likes because I like it too. It has to be enough.