Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
He lets go of me to tear at his own clothes, and I seize my chance, flipping him onto his back with enough force to knock the breath from him. His eyes flash with surprise, then something darker, and he pulls me down into his gravity.
We roll through dirt and leaves, fighting for dominance then surrendering it in turns. My hands bruise his skin, and his mark me just as savagely. I want to break him, make him feel the same wreckage he leaves in me, but I never can. I’m the one left in pieces, every time, and the bastard knows it.
His cock is hard against me, and I grind down viciously, wanting to drive him as crazy as he’s driving me. There’s nothing sane about this, nothing healthy. It’s desperate and raw, and I hate that it’s exactly what I crave.
I need it like a drug.
He grips my hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises, digging in like he thinks I might disappear. I want to tell him that’s my plan, that I’ll vanish and leave him hollow, but we both know I’ll crawl back eventually.
I shove him down harder, and his breath hisses through clenched teeth. He’s offering me that shit-eating grin that makes me want to split his lip and devour his mouth in the same breath.
“Damiano.” He makes my name sound like a prayer and a curse.
His need is plastered across his face, raw and real and matching the hunger tearing through me. It always has. The fight’s just foreplay, always was.
He licks his hand and pumps his cock.
He wants inside me, and as I position myself above him, I snarl, “Fuck you,” the words breaking between harsh breaths.
He’s grinning again, that wild look that feels like being gutted. “Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s the plan.”
Without warning, he thrusts up brutally hard. There’s no gentleness, no mercy, just the violent connecting of bodies. It feels like being punched and kissed simultaneously, and I gasp, choking on dirt and oxygen. He thrusts again, slick heat between us, and I feel myself coming undone.
“Faster,” I demand, knowing he wants it too badly to refuse. He picks up speed, drilling into me with single-minded focus, not stopping until he gets what he wants and forces me to take what I need.
I slam my hips against him mindlessly, desperate for more, for everything. It’s pure chaos. The gravel cutting into my knees should hurt, but it doesn’t. Pain transforms into something sweeter.
“Is this it?” he taunts, lips grazing my ear, words sharp as knives. “This what you need?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I hiss, nearly choking because I’m right on the edge.
Heat builds, impossibly tight, then detonates through me. I grab my cock, coming violently over the dirt beneath us.
Orgasm tears through me like lightning, leaving me shattered. I’m spinning out, unable to hold onto anything, especially not him. He rams into me once more, vicious and deep, cursing as he comes, fingers tangled painfully in my hair.
For a moment, it’s just breath and heartbeats. Then his low, mocking laughter scrapes down my spine, and I know I’ve lost again.
“Fucking bastard,” I say, rolling away from him as my voice breaks between gasps. Leaves and dirt cling to my sweaty back.
He props himself on one elbow. “But you can’t stay away.”
I don’t answer, not with words. I don’t need to.
He knows exactly how his smirk infects me like a disease. Maybe that’s why I can’t quit this toxic cycle, can’t quit him. It’s all teeth and hunger and need, and we’re both starving.
Chapter 6
Briar
The party was a mistake.
I can feel it deep in my lungs, this heavy weight spreading through my body like quicksand. Too many people, too much noise, the air thick with perfume and alcohol and whatever sketchy stuff people smuggled into my house. My body’s sending all the warning signals I’ve learned to recognize over the years, the telltale tremor in my fingers, cold sweat beading along my hairline despite being surrounded by sweaty bodies.
But I keep smiling anyway, nodding at whatever this woman from the harbor is saying about her son who’s studying marine biology. Can’t remember her name, even though she told me twice. My brain’s going fuzzy, that familiar pre-crash fog rolling in.
“I need to check on something,” I say, cutting her off mid-sentence. Rude, but whatever. “Excuse me.”
I weave through the crowd, dodging grabby hands and people calling my name. The great room looks nothing like the elegant, empty space it was this morning. Now it’s bodies and spilled drinks everywhere, air thick with smoke that is not just tobacco. The antique furniture I spent hours covering is already uncovered in places, glasses leaving rings on wood that’s survived a century without a scratch.
The party seemed like such a badass idea when I planned it, a big “fuck you” to Dad, to this stupid illness, to being locked away from the world. But now I want everyone gone.