Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
The light, floral scent of Allie’s perfume lingers in the air when I enter her room, closing the door behind me. She left a mess on her dresser. The drawers stand half open, underwear hanging out, cosmetic bottles scattered.
Like she was in such a hurry to get to her dinner, she couldn’t be bothered to clean up after herself. Wouldn’t want to keep her future meal ticket waiting. The thought turns my blood to acid, eating me from the inside. Was I only a practice run before the real thing came along? If she is marrying him for the money, why the hell didn’t she turn to me? I may be a bastard and a bully, but I sure as hell have a bank account, too.
It’s not like I have anything to spend my money on either.
My thoughts stray when I catch sight of her panties. I hook a finger around the waistband of a lacy white thong and pull it the rest of the way out of the drawer. I’ve seen her wear this pair before. For me. The memory of peeling it off her body makes my dick lengthen and thicken, and the idea of jerking off on it plays in my head.
I shake the thought away, refusing to let myself get any more distracted. I’m here for a reason. For her. Instead of jerking off or putting them back, I shove the lace into my pocket. A piece of her to take with me.
The front door opens and closes loudly downstairs while I’m looking through her closet. I stop and hold my breath, listening hard. The echoes of Emma’s voice reach me. She sounds happy. Things went well, I guess. Isn’t that nice?
I duck into the closet to wait for my prey. I’ve barely adjusted the door before I catch the click of her heels coming closer. She’s walking slowly. Dreaming of the big day? Reliving every moment of her romantic dinner? What a load of bullshit.
Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t I give her the chance?
The anticipation is like a drug. My heart pounds a little harder, a little faster, when her bedroom door opens. Should I wait until she gets into bed? She closes and locks the door, then all I hear is her zipper lowering.
My dick stirs again when I imagine her standing in her room, wearing nothing but her underwear, clueless. She has no idea she’s not alone. That I have the power now.
Her footsteps grow louder, the floorboards creaking, then the closet door opens. She freezes in front of me, wearing only a strapless bra and a thong, a dress hanging over one arm.
She doesn’t have time to gasp.
The dress hits the floor when I snatch her close and clamp a hand over her mouth. Her fear-filled eyes search my face in a panic while I drag her across the room to her bed. She bucks and twists, crying out helplessly, uselessly, her voice nothing but a whisper against my palm. No one can hear.
Fuck, I hate the way her body makes me feel, pressed against mine as I shove her onto the bed and straddle her, using my weight to pin her down. I keep my hand across her mouth but make sure she can breathe.
“I should warn you. When you squirm, you only make me harder.” I grind my hips against her mound, and she lets out a guttural moan, half pleasure, half pain, all piss and vinegar.
She doesn’t know what pain is. But I’ll be happy to show her.
“Remember how you used to love getting me hard?” I chuckle at the broken sob she releases against my fingers. “I would be driving, and you’d reach over and stroke me through my jeans. You loved to tease me, didn’t you? You wanted to see how long it would take before I had to pull over.”
I lean in, inhaling her expensive perfume. “You smell good,” I whisper, nuzzling her neck where her pulse flutters out of control. “I like it better when you smell like grass and sunshine, but you had to get all whored up for your fiancé, right?”
She groans behind my hand. “Am I hurting you?” I ask. “That’s a damn shame. It sucks when someone hurts you, doesn’t it?” I don’t mean to say that out loud. I wish I could take it back as our eyes meet and her brows pull together.
Is she surprised to know that? That losing her hurt me. That every day she continues to live, it hurts me. All she has to do is breathe, and I’m tortured. She was the only person I ever opened up to, the only one I ever let in—and she ensured it would never happen again.
Yet she’s the one who gets to move on, while I’ll spend the rest of my life haunted by the memory of how I let her use me. It throws fire through me.