Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 290(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Stick your ass in the air, Kat,” he grunts before slapping it briskly.
I obey his demands because when I comply, life is easier for both of us.
He enters me in one thrust with a hand braced on my hip. No time for adjusting or making sure I’m lubricated enough to ease the shock of his massive erection.
“Still so fucking tight,” he growls.
His hips slam into my ass as he fucks me savagely, ruthlessly. This is fast and furious, not tender or sweet. My breasts reverberate with his thrusts, and my face scrapes against the hard sand.
“Touch your clit and make yourself come,” he pants, once again out of breath.
I obey to avoid the fight, but when I touch myself, I’m flooded with memories of running down this beach as a teenager, Heath ahead of me by a good stretch of beach, his longish hair glinting in the sunlight, his smile as he turned to wait for me. I wanted Heath with a desire that consumed me.
In a burst of strength, I squirm away and end up on my back, Eddie on top of me, pinning me to the sand.
I reach out to slap him, and he grabs my wrist. Helpless and furious, I spit in his face. A smile filled with rancor creeps across his face. He slaps me so hard I see stars in the starless night.
He enters me again and renews his vigorous thrusts, one arm pinned to my stomach, and the other above me in the sand as he fucks me viciously. His wrist grazes my temple as he pins my arm, and all I have to do is tip my head back lightly until I can bite it. My teeth sink into the flesh and I feel his pulse beat under the sensitive skin of my lips. I taste blood again, this time Eddie’s, as the warm, sickeningly familiar taste pools on my tongue.
“You fucking feral bitch!” he roars.
My bite only spurs him on and he thrusts hard enough that I fear he’ll split me in half. There will be bruises for sure.
“Next time, I’ll fuck you in the ass and make sure your face is in the dirt where it belongs,” he grits. “You’re good for nothing except this, a worthless cum bank.”
I release my jaw and teeth, and he yanks his arm behind him, wiping away the blood. This isn’t the first time I’ve bitten him, and it’s not the first time he’s chased me down and forced himself on me. I’ve lost count of the bruises and the scrapes and the drawn blood.
After he comes in a roar of explosive testosterone, he cradles my jaw fondly before pulling out.
“Next time I catch you looking at those pictures, I’ll burn the whole fucking house down,” he says before gently slapping my cheek.
He stands, spits in the sand, and pulls on his pajama bottoms without even offering me a hand. I curl into a fetal position in the cold, sand.
Part of me wants to cry, but my emotions are dead. Another part of me wants to break his nose or poison his brandy, stab him in the back while he sleeps.
“Don’t wear white next time. At least make it fun for me,” he says before turning away.
I watch his impressive frame grow smaller and smaller as he returns to the house. The wind whips up sea spray, and the waves continue to pound the shore. Maybe when the tide comes in, it will catch me asleep and whisk me away from Wainscott Hollow. The sea in Montauk is benevolent to broken women, rocking them to eternal sleep in its soothing embrace. Just ask my mother.
Long ago…
“The last one there’s a rotten egg!” Kat calls as she zips past me. Her long brown hair flies out behind her, and she leaps down a sand dune completely out of my line of sight.
“Maybe if you’d actually carry something, we could see who’s the fastest,” I yell. But my pleas are swallowed by the wind as it rushes through the dunes.
I see her flat out running twenty feet below me through the sand barefoot—her shoes are in my hands, along with the big throw Mother insisted we bring and a canvas bag full of homemade cookies, juice boxes, and empty jars for collecting things.
Kat stumbles once and falls all the way to the ground. She recovers fast and kicks up sand as she beelines to the rolling waves.
“We’re not supposed to go in the water,” I call, but my voice is drowned by the thunder of the waves.
Kat has always lived right next to the ocean, away from the city. But I moved here from our small apartment in the Bronx after her mother passed away, and Mr. Shaw needed someone to look after his children.
“Wait for me,” I call to her, jumping the same dune, but with more apprehension.