Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38157 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
He focused on her beneath him, and shoved his right hand between her body and the blanket, grasping her breast. He glared, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, hoping that it would look like he was simply ravaging her, as the fingers that were hidden from the peephole flicked and primed her nipple, desperately hoping he’d arouse her. He slowed, leaning down to her, and whispered into her ear, “Such a good girl. You’re so wet for Daddy. Come for me, darlin’.”
She moaned again, her eyes closed now. He flicked a tongue out to her neck and licked the sweet skin. She was panting now as he dipped a finger to her nub and stroked. Her breath hitched, and she pushed back against him with a cry, her pussy milking his cock. She finally gave in to her own release, moaning aloud as she climaxed beneath him, his own cries of pleasure mingling with hers.
She sniffled quietly. Fucking hell, he hoped the bastards who watched were gone now. They’d gotten their show. How could he take care of her now without them noticing? He slumped against her, feigning exhaustion, as he withdrew himself.
“Stay there,” he hissed, pointing a finger at her so that anyone watching would think he was growling out an order. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you, but you stay there.”
He zipped up his trousers and made his way over to the dresser. He feigned a yawn, stretching his arms up over his head, and flicked the lantern off so they were plunged into darkness. He unbuttoned his shirt, turned to the bed, and tossed his shirt over his shoulder. He didn’t look at first where it landed, but when he met her on the bed, a stream of moonlight illuminated the room. He could see how his shirt had landed in a perfect balled-up mess right on the dresser, effectively blocking the peephole. If they hadn’t moved on yet, and they likely had as there were more shows to watch in the other rooms, between the light being off and the clothes on the dresser, they wouldn’t see a damn thing more.
“Darlin’,” he said, as he walked over to the bed, stroking a hand against her hair. “C’mere.” He climbed onto the bed wearing nothing but his trousers. She turned away from him, her back to him, and pulled her legs up to her chest, a sight that made his heart twist in his chest. Did she want to protect herself from him? He closed his eyes and sat up on the bed, reaching a hand out and gently touching her back. “C’mere, baby,” he whispered, but still she did not move. Another pause. “Come to your daddy now, darlin’,” he said, and it was then that she finally turned to him, put her head on his chest, and cried.
* * *
Aida could see the self-loathing in his eyes. She knew he felt he’d had no choice but to do what he did. It had been an easy matter to fight him, as it wasn’t just him she fought, but her own dark inclinations and instincts. For as her mind told her to turn away from him to protect herself, his strength and power was the enigmatic pull she could not resist. Her backside throbbed from the strokes of his belt, and she felt the ache in her pussy from his brutal claiming. She wanted to push him away and hate him. She tried.
“Leave me alone, you savage,” she said, a tremor in her voice, and yet she didn’t move.
“Hush, darlin’,” he whispered. “If they thought I felt anything for you, they wouldn’t believe I was with them,” he explained. “You’ll understand soon, but you had to fight me.”
It made no sense. The tears were rent out of her, and she wished she could pin her hatred on him, but she couldn’t. The loss of control while over his knee, or beneath him on the bed while he claimed her, made her feel more alive than she had in years, perhaps ever. She tried so hard to shove her base desires away, to tell herself not to trust him, to try to fear him. But she could not. Frustration welled in her and tears coursed down her face as he held her, strong arms holding her close to him, his bare chest under her cheek. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a moment of wishing that somehow this was real, that somehow he meant the gentle caress.
How could she explain that the tears that fell were born from a desperate need to know he really cared for her? There was too much to dwell on. “You make me call you Daddy,” she said in a half-drowsy state. “You want me to hate you.”
He closed his eyes and stroked her hair, his hand on her neck drawing her closer, tighter, and yet she wanted him to hold her even closer and tighter.