Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 178117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 891(@200wpm)___ 712(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 178117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 891(@200wpm)___ 712(@250wpm)___ 594(@300wpm)
And they make me want to offer the leftover oxygen in my lungs for free.
“If Dylan got you so riled up already, then I will be the one to take care of it. I can’t have you falling for them,” he says.
Falling for them?
Does he mean Dylan and Ali?
The knife is pushed into my calf, right above where he’s kissing me. “So if you won’t play by my rules, then let’s play by yours.”
I can’t even reply because his tongue is everywhere, stilting my breath.
“We made a deal, you and I,” he mutters, kissing his way up my thighs while dragging the knife up with him. And I’m equal parts terrified and aroused. “So tell me what you need me to do.”
When his tongue swipes my slit, I moan out loud.
The cold blade pushing up against my inner thigh silences me. And he pauses his kisses and looks up, knife digging into my skin. “Tell. Me.”
“Find my sister’s bullies,” I murmur as I gaze down.
Right then, his tongue dips out to lick me again, and I almost lose my balance. I steady myself against the walls while the water clashes down on me.
“What else?” he says, lapping me up.
“Punish them,” I say.
His tongue is relentless.
His voice is dark, commanding, “Be specific.”
“Hurt them,” I say.
His mouth covers my most sensitive parts, circling me like he’s intent on making me come again, and I don’t think I’ll be able to stop it, even if I wanted to.
“How?” he asks.
“What?” I mutter.
And he actually pulls back, leaving me bereft. “If you won’t give me everything you have, I won’t give you mine.”
God, my clit thumps just from the fact that his tongue hovers so close, and I hate him for edging me like this. God, I hate it, and I love it so much.
“Cut out their tongues,” I murmur.
And he immediately goes to town on me to the point that I struggle to even let out a moan.
“More,” he groans.
“Slice off their fingers,” I say.
“Yes,” he says, rolling his tongue around until my legs begin to quake.
“Rip out their eyes.”
Suddenly, he thrusts the handle of the knife into me, and I gasp, only for it to turn into a moan as he starts fucking me with it while his tongue continues to roll around. The sharp end of the blade must be cutting into his skin, but he doesn’t seem to have a care in the world over pain.
A mixture of rage and animalistic lust floods my body as he continues licking me, and I can barely keep it together.
“Now finish it,” he growls.
“Kill them,” I whisper.
And his tongue dives into me so deep along with the knife I mewl with delight. “Fuck, I’m coming, Felix!”
“Yes, finish all over my mouth,” he groans, lapping me up like he can taste the revenge on my wetness.
My hands on the wall can barely hold me up. He rises to his feet and catches me just before I fall, planting me against the wall, before his lips crash into mine again.
The knife tumbles out of me and clatters onto the tile floor, but I don’t give a damn.
All I want is more of these kisses, more of his touch, more of everything so depraved I would sell my soul to receive just a crumb.
“I will bring them hell for you.”
His voice is dark, heady, and so mesmerizing that I’m becoming obsessed.
God, now I understand what they did to her.
I tear off Felix’s clothes and throw them to the side, pants and shirt and everything between him and me. But when our lips momentarily unlatch, I gaze at all the intricate tattoos on his body, at the Skull & Serpent tattoo he wears too, just like Dylan and probably Ali too, and many more. Because what was hiding underneath those high-buttoned shirts and thick black hoodies was a neck tattoo of a phoenix going from his chin all the way down to his chest.
Along with a Medusa right underneath.
A tattoo people usually only get when … they’ve been assaulted.
Fuck.
I suck in a breath as I touch it, but he flinches when I do. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Is this …? Were you …?” I mutter.
“It was a long time ago,” he says, clenching his jaw.
So it’s real? That really happened to him?
Wow.
Out of all people, he was the last I would guess to ever be … a victim.
There are many more layers to this man than I originally thought.
A tortured soul hell-bent on giving the world exactly what it gave him.
Desolation.
His hand grips mine. “Don’t pity me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I know what I see,” he says, his nostrils flaring. “I’ve looked at you long enough to recognize every fucking emotion on your face.”
I gulp.
Was he always that obsessed?
Or did I just never notice because I was too busy to make him the object of my hatred?