Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“I fu-fucking hate y-you,” I scream, my body convulsing under his weight as a painful and electrifying buildup explodes within me.
“Fuck,” he grits as he jerks inside me, breathing heavily into my ear as I curl my arms around his back, my nails dragging down his skin as if I’m petting him, but I also want to hurt him. But I’m too tired for the fight. I feel nothing but bliss.
The darkness within me recedes as if exhausted from being exposed and exploited.
He’s heaving in breaths as he pulls out of me, rolls to the side, and then stands, looming over me. He brushes sweaty locks of hair from my face. I feel dead like he’s sucked out my soul and left behind a barely functioning body. I can’t see his expression because my eyesight isn’t the best without my glasses, but I’m certain his gaze rakes over me. He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head, then turns and walks away.
I lie there, trying to catch my breath. I hear the fridge open and then close before the sound of his footsteps comes closer. That’s when I see him again, holding out a bottle of water, but I don’t want to move to take it. I’m not sure if my legs or arms will work right now. What the fuck just happened? It’s so crazy that I want to laugh.
This is madness.
“I need to go,” I tell him.
“But I haven’t even shown you my gifts yet, Shortcake.”
I manage enough energy to shake my head and sit up. Finding my glasses I put them on and look at the carnage of the room. All the photos, strings, and pins are scattered on the floor. The coffee mug from the dining table is shattered, and paperwork is strewn everywhere. A few droplets of blood dot the wooden floors. And when I look at Braxton’s bare feet, I notice he must have cut himself on a shard of the coffee mug or lamp. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, though. If he did, he’d care about the small bleeding hole at his throat from my stiletto. The gun rests on the table, and a guttural growl vibrates in my chest, recalling the smooth slide of it inside me.
Every part of me aches, and when I look down at myself, I see my skin is a map of bites and marks.
Oh my fucking God. What did we do?
I shouldn’t be into this, right?
“I have your statues under my bed,” he says, bringing my attention back to him. His hair is mussed, sweat glistening on his forehead.
“You bought some of my statues? I’m surprised you can afford them,” I say, clicking my tongue and quickly falling back into indifference.
He smirks as if following suit, and we return to our usual selves.
“No, the special ones you have delivered here. The creepy ones of dead bodies.”
My face twists in disgust. “Eww. I don’t know what you’re talking about, and of course, I don’t want to see them.”
His smirk widens. “Your best work, if you ask me.”
Warmth settles in my heart, and I’m quick to conceal any kind of reaction. He’s baiting me, waiting for my admission. But I’m not falling for it.
I scrunch my face and feign disgust. “This was a mistake. Maybe don’t tell the next woman you bring over that you’re into weird little dead figurines, okay? Tell them you play Xbox or something instead.”
He laughs at that. “Look who’s so quick to put herself back in her own cage.”
I ignore his provocation, hating how much of me he sees and not knowing how he does it. He’s the only one. Not even my family knows this part of me, so how can he so clearly see it?
Like calls to like.
I want to punch myself for that thought. I’m not romanticizing anything about Braxton Hero. He’s the asshole who I’m giddily waiting to kill. I remind myself as I pick up my dress and slide it back on.
“Reclip this,” I demand, turning my back and lifting my hair.
He chuckles but does as he’s told.
“I have to go,” I say.
“If you say so.” He lies on the bed, completely naked, cock semi-hard, holding a bottle of water.
I lick my bottom lip, unable to stop staring at his cock. I mean, maybe one more round would be okay since I’m already here?
No!
What the fuck is wrong with me?
What have I done?
Did I really just sleep with the enemy? My family has many enemies, the police being one of the worst. And I’ve just climbed into bed with one of them.
I’m in so much trouble.
I grab the last of my things and hurry for the door.
“I’ll be seeing you real soon, Shortcake.”
I flip him off over my shoulder because kicking the hornet’s nest is painful in a way I like.