Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Anger sparked in her veins. Typical evasive Matias, telling her exactly nothing.
He sucked on her bottom lip, his fingers curling lazily inside her. “We always talked about our first time together, how perfect it would be.”
She didn’t want that memory here. It was too sweet, too fragile. “Don’t do this.”
“This isn’t going to be perfect. It’s going to be ugly and conflicted, because you can’t get out of that damn head of yours, and I’m too fucking worked up to draw this out. But when I’m inside you, it will always be honest.”
Honest? She buried her fingernails into her palms. “Fuck you.”
“In a second.” He slid his fingers out of her and gripped his cock, seating himself at her opening. Then he held her head in his hands and rested his forehead against hers. “I need you with me, mi vida. Forget about all the bullshit and just focus on us.”
“There is no—”
He kissed her, forcibly, hungrily, his mouth rough and wet and persistent. She tasted herself on his lips, a despicable reminder that she’d orgasmed on his forked tongue.
His hips rocked, just enough to press his tip inside, and stopped. His legs shook, and his fingers curled against her scalp as if he were struggling with the need to slam all the way in.
“It’s just you and me in this bed.” He licked her lips and kissed the corners of her mouth. “No history. No future. Nothing but right now and us.”
The intensity of his eyes seemed to say so much more than his words. His pupils pulsed, dark and bottomless but not empty. There was something there, way down deep. Something huge and profound. She peered in, all the way inside his soul, and she felt it instantly. They both did, their breaths hitching as one.
In that frozen space of time, she saw not the monster that sold women into slavery, but the boy who had kissed all her scrapes and scratches, taught her how to face her fears, and promised her he would never let her fall. The bond she had with that boy was still alive, right here in this bed. It was more mature now, scarier, stronger, but it held her just as tightly, demanding she give herself in return, and she wanted that. Desperately.
She nodded her consent, a reflex that immediately warped into regret, then panic, but it was too late.
He thrust, his head falling to her shoulder. “Ahhh, God. So tight.” He worked his hips, inching through her wetness and pushing, pushing, to fill her fully. “Fuck, let me in.”
Desire thickened his voice and shivered through her. She squeezed her fingers against the headboard and tried to relax her inner muscles, but he was huge, his girth stretching and invading until, finally, he was buried balls deep and panting.
“Oh fuck, Camila. Fuck.” His chest vibrating with a deep groan. “Hold on.”
Then he fucked her, and she did hold on—to the headboard. Her emotions, however, were slipping through her fingers. She tried to separate, tried not to feel anything as he pounded inside her, his hands everywhere, caressing her chest, her hips, her legs. But it was the potency of his eyes, his gaze never leaving hers, that held her there, commanding her to stay.
He pressed her knees to her shoulders, deepening the angle as he hammered in and out, faster, harder, his passion unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Pleasure fired through her nerve endings, and she tried to pretend she felt nothing, tried to block it all out.
But she felt everything—every slide of his cock and curl of heat, the spasmodic quivers across her skin, and the needy grip of her pussy. Her body wanted this, and she hated it. Hated herself.
He kissed her urgently between heaving breaths, his grunts and groans unrestrained and his body a contracting tireless machine.
With his tongue in her mouth and his bruising grip on her legs, he slammed against the back of her cunt, ignoring the flinch of her body. He took her harshly, fervently, as if he were fucking her with every torment, dedication, and dream in his soul.
This was what was missing in all her one-night stands. This driving vehemence to give and take, the devastating risk to own or disclaim, to just toss it all out there, consequences be damned. She had no defense against this. No amount of shutting down or tensing up could overpower the force of his gaze or the urgency in which he consumed her.
Each drugging stroke tore at the surface of her shields, burrowing into her secret places and unleashing dark things—filthy desires of being taken, used, dominated, and…loved. Exactly like this.
The rope prevented her from moving her hands. His strength stopped her from lowering her legs. The steadiness in his gaze forced her to look at him, and in his eyes, she saw herself in a way that terrified her.