Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I don't relent until I toss her frail body down on top of the bed, the covers a rumpled mess underneath her. She gets tangled in them as she fights to get her feet under her. Yeah, I don’t think so. As mean as it might make me, I continue to shove her back onto the bed until she gives up.
I’ve done nothing but care for her, protect her, make her feel wanted. Hell, I’ve given her space when it was clear she needed it but what about me? What about what I need for fucking once? Something cracks inside me and I can’t stand it any longer. The way she stares at me like I’m the enemy. Like I’m the one who hurt her, not the one who has been giving her everything for months.
My grip earns me an icy glare that I gladly accept. She wants to fight, we’ll fucking fight.
With a sigh of defeat she slaps the covers and asks,"Is this where I perform my wifely duties?"
Still stuck in my mask of cold indifference, trying not to let the fire raging in my gut ignite and reduce us both to ash, I stare her down. A heartbeat passes and then another, and I step closer, reaching for her with my other hand at the same time. She struggles in my grasp, but I manage to bracket her thighs between my knees, trapping her. My little prey, always falling into the trap I lay for her.
"Depends. Is that what this is all about? Are you hungry for my cock?” A lustful haze seeps into her eyes. She might think she hates me right now, and even if she does, she can’t deny that she also wants me, and if I have to use that desire against her then I will. “Tell me, Little Prey. Say the word, and I'll fuck you until you scream my name."
The need to be closer grips me, and I press my legs into the wooden frame and lean forward, bracing my arms on either side of her shoulders, leaving her nowhere to escape, nowhere to hide. "Is that what you want?"
She bites her lip and shakes her head, but her eyes give her away. Wanton need swirls deep. "No. I don’t want you. We can't..."
"We can't do what? Fuck?” I whisper into the shell of her ear. “We’re both adults. You’re my wife, and I’m your husband. I don’t see the problem.”
“Of course you don’t,” she murmurs with a shake of her head.
“Just because you hate me, doesn’t mean we can’t fuck. I know you want it. I know you want my cock stretching you, sliding deep inside, touching every delicate nerve ending in your cunt. My cunt. Until you explode, squeezing the release right from my balls. You’re just stubborn, too stubborn for your own good, but that’s okay…” I nuzzle against her throat and smirk at the sharp intake of breath. She fucking wants me. “Because I’ve got all the time in the world to wait for you to come to your senses.” Pulling back so I can look into her eyes, I finish my sentence, “In fact, nothing will please me more than watching you shatter around me while your pretty little mouth begs me to fuck you harder. And believe me when I say it, you’ll beg me.”
Her entire body tightens, and the anger in her face bleeds out. I wonder what she’s going to do next, and she shocks the fuck out of me when she puckers her lips and spits at me. Spittle hits my cheek, but I’m not bothered by the saliva. I’m more consumed with the anger in her eyes.
She’s angry because she knows I’m telling the truth.
Well, guess what, the truth fucking hurts sometimes.
Grinning, I gently scoop the spit off my cheek, and stare down at it. "Did you just fucking spit at me?"
I can see the fear building like bricks, but somehow she remains stoic.
“What do you think?” She replies with sass, but I know it’s nothing but an act. Her body language says so much more. Her eyes dart away from mine and pinch closed, she grips the sheets, as if she’s preparing herself for a fight, for pain.
I’m an asshole, a manipulator, a fucking menace…but I would never hit her. Never. It kills me to see that fear there, but she knows better. I’m not her father. I’m not Yanov.
All I can do is shake my head in disappointment. "Is that any way to treat your husband?"
“You’re not my husband,” she replies, her voice shaky.
I grin. “Oh, but I am, Little Prey, and I think it’s time you treated me like it.”
Before she can think to move, I shove my fingers between her lips, putting the globule of spit back into her mouth, then I pull my fingers free, and clamp my hand over her mouth and lower jaw to stop myself from undoing my pants and fucking her fiery little mouth with my cock.