Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
As I knew they would, my words provoke him. He always told me he’d kill any man who dares to touch me. I want—need—a reaction from him. I want him to understand exactly what he’s doing in chasing me away.
His nostrils flare. He digs his fingers like claws into the cracked leather of the armrests, but he only gives me cold-hearted words designed to cut deep. “You want a fuck? Do you miss a warm, hard cock in your pussy? Sorry, darlin,’ but mine isn’t up for the task. Excuse the pun. It may be a while before I can stand on both feet and fuck like a man. But if that’s what you want, I can get you a stripper with a pretty face and a big dick. Hell, I can watch from my wheelchair. Should be fun for both of us.”
I want to slap him. Hard. But that will be abuse. Instead, I step back, opting for distance while trembling with rage. “Don’t ever speak to me like that again because if you do, those will be the last words you say to me. If you’re angry with me because I came out of the explosion unharmed while you sacrificed half of your senses and a big part of your mobility, be man enough to say so, but don’t use words to hurt me emotionally. It’s no less abusive than using your fists.”
He stares at me, working his jaw from side to side.
Yes, he hurts emotionally as well as physically. That doesn’t give him the right to use me as his punching bag. I stopped being that for my mother a long time ago, and I have no intention of starting again for him or anyone. I give him time to apologize or to at least talk about this like an adult instead of an asshole, but when only silence stretches, I turn on my heel.
I don’t make it a step before he locks his fingers around my wrist and spins me back to him. The momentum makes me stumble. I push on his shoulders for balance, but he cups my head and yanks me down. He crashes his lips on mine as I fall into his lap with my legs dangling over one armrest, not giving me time to protest.
His lips are familiar—soft and warm. The intensity of the kiss takes me back to the first time we met when he pushed me with a knife against a wall. His tongue works mine into submission just like he did then. His breath tastes like mint and coffee. But this time, he’s not meticulous and threatening. He’s starving and out of control, eating my lips with enough force to leave my jaw aching.
Vaguely, I’m aware we shouldn’t do this. I don’t want to hurt him or disturb the healing skin on his back. Yet I’m helpless under his onslaught, my overtired and overwrought senses reveling at a chance to forget the problems we face while coming alive under his hands. It’s been six weeks, and Nicole, my ob-gyn, gave me the green light for sex. So did his surgeon—if we take it easy.
I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on, letting him devour my mouth with hungry strokes of his tongue and eager nips of his teeth. His body is hard against and underneath me, the telltale signs of his arousal already growing against my ass. I rub myself over him and moan into the kiss, grasping at strands of his hair just to bring him closer. To feel closer.
A low groan reverberates in his chest as he fastens a hand on my breast through my dress, kneading the curve with greedy fingers.
“Fuck, Anya,” he says against my lips, stroking my nipple. “I missed these pretty tits.”
He tips me back, supporting my neck with his arm, and chases after my lips again while sweeping a hand up my inner thigh beneath the dress. I jerk when he brushes his fingertips over my center. In a wink, I’m wet. I grind down, needing the steel length that’s cushioned under my ass inside me. I trail a hand down his stomach, outlining the hard grooves of the muscles that define his male form with my fingertips. Even in the hospital he insisted on working out as much as his injuries allowed. Even when it hurt him.
He hisses when I shift on his lap to cup his hard-on through the fabric of his pants. He can argue all he wants, but this hasn’t changed. The chemistry between us is as explosive as ever.
He tears his lips from mine to look at my face with a smoldering gaze, his hand caught between my thighs and his fingers on the part of me that, right now, needs him the most.
“Is this what you want?” He almost sounds in pain. “Think carefully, tesoro, because I’m a second away from sinking four fingers into your hot, tight pussy. That’s all the mercy you’re getting. Because when I’ve stretched you, I’m going to strip you and make you ride my cock until you’re too raw to walk.”