Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
I clung to his bicep as his pace increased. His touch went deeper. His thumb pressed harder.
Up and up and up, he pushed me.
Quietly, firmly, wonderfully.
I couldn’t stay still any longer.
I shivered and squirmed, fighting with him, needing to come, all while terrified of it.
His leg hooked over mine, keeping me pinned.
And then he inserted a third finger.
His pace lost its sweetness. His hand moved with the motions of fucking.
He didn’t coax me anymore. He shoved me up the mountain, forcing me to tighten, to spiral, to spark. The telltale drawing up of my womb, the hot, delicious cramps that turned into a delicious knot just waiting to explode.
I was so close.
So, so close to detonation.
“Please…” I moaned, needing a final push.
His fingers drove deep, deep inside me, unapologetically possessive.
Sudden pain wrenched over my scalp from Milton pulling my hair out. My jaw ached from his punch. My shoulder blades and spine and ribs and wrists and legs. His every kick and throw repeated in horrifying precision. Discomfort and despair added awful layers to my rabidly popping pleasure. A cyclone of the past and the present howled through me, doing its best to blow away the future I needed to claim.
No.
Don’t.
He’s not here.
You’re safe.
My forehead furrowed as I clung to happiness, not agony. I willed my body to remember the peace X gave me all while exterminating the memories of Milton.
It didn’t work.
Pain built and built.
The crack of my cheekbone, the burn of my hip, the throb of my knee—
Fight-or-flight kicked in.
Adrenaline and terror and—
No!
The tingling coils of my orgasm dissolved. Milton cackled in my mind. All I could see was his sneering face. His taunts calling me a slut. His punches decorating me with bruises.
It happened again.
I hadn’t been able to get past this part on my own.
I’d forced myself through it.
I’d screamed in resentment as that bastard prevented me from coming. I’d touched myself all while sobbing in defeat and failure because I’d let a monster into my life. It’d made me feel sick to my stomach—like I violated myself. He’d stolen my freedom, self-worth, and power and left me with frustration, irritation and bone-deep shame that I would always be tainted. Always be the stupid girl who trusted the wrong person. Always be the broken survivor who could no longer touch her own body.
“It’s okay,” X murmured, pressing his mask-covered lips to my cheek. “You’re with me. No one else.”
His fingers kept stroking me, tugging me back from the black nightmares. With each rock, he eradicated another pain, soothed another strike, deleted another kick.
Fresh tears streamed down my cheek that he was so patient, so understanding.
He touched me so worshippingly, all while reminding me that he did this for me. He touched me because I’d practically forced him to. He serviced me like someone I’d bribed or hired—obeying me despite his own reservations.
Guilt swarmed.
New shame drowned me.
I was so selfish. So greedy. Just as narcissistic as Milton.
It can’t just be about me.
I can’t use him like this.
My right hand dropped from his arm. Angling my hips a little, I put a little space between us and wrapped my fingers around his throbbing hard-on.
He went instantly, fatally still.
His breathing came fast and shallow, his fingers twitching inside me.
“S—Lori.” He exhaled with a heart-clenching grunt. “Stop.”
He shifted as if to prevent me from touching him, but I clamped my legs closed and kept his wrist trapped. “It’s not fair for me to ask you to give me a release and not return the favour.”
Stupid tears rolled hotly down my cheeks.
Every cell throbbed with hotter frustration as my impossible orgasm flew higher out of reach. What was the point? This was a waste of time. Milton stalked my thoughts, pacing on the outskirts of my mind, keeping me imprisoned in a cage of my own making.
“I can’t come,” I muttered almost coldly. Rocking my hand up and down, I focused on his climax instead. “But you can.”
I’d almost gotten there.
I appreciated his attempt, but…I couldn’t scale that wall just yet.
I’m not ready.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.
“You can come. If I’m doing it wrong, talk to me,” he groaned. “Tell me what you like.”
“Forget about me.” My voice caught with frustrated tears. I clutched his rock-hard length. “Let me—”
“No.” Removing his fingers, he clamped them hot and damp around my wrist and jerked my touch off him. In the same motion, he flung up the covers over his head and shot down the mattress.
I gasped as he settled between my legs, his face directly above my exposed pussy.
Grabbing the blankets, I looked down and, good God, I’d never had a mask fetish. I’d never had any kind of fetish, but seeing X between my legs—dressed all in black with a skull covering half his face and his baseball cap a little skewed, all the tingles and clenches he’d conjured returned in a wave of delirium.