Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
When I imagined the woman I’d inevitably spend my life with, it was someone practical, strategic, and low risk.
Chantel doesn’t fit into any of those categories.
Every inch of trust I gain from her is hard-won, and the question mark behind her identity is as high-risk as it gets. She’s the furthest thing from uncomplicated or practical, and she’s also a flight risk—which, as it turns out, I fucking hate.
For the past three years, between thoughts of handcuffing her to my bed and settling for Stockholm Syndrome, I’ve tried to purge this addiction. But it was already too late. My obsession with her had crept in silently like a slow-acting venom, poisoning my blood before I even knew I was in its grip.
One taste of her was all it took for me to know what real hunger was.
Now that I’ve been inside her, I’ll never allow anyone else to have her.
“You’ll have to be more specific.” She eyes the various shades of red dresses hanging from the rack.
I approach her from behind, pressing against her back as my hand settles over the curve of her hip. Traveling downward, my fingers find the hem of her skirt and drag it up her thigh at a criminally slow pace.
A wave of goosebumps ripples over her, and she sucks in a breath, torn between battle and surrender.
The way her body responds to me terrifies her. She doesn’t want to want this. But right now, those fears are overshadowed by her desire.
She lets me strip her down until the only barrier left between us is a thong soaked with my cum. The imprints of last night still mark her skin, and seeing her so thoroughly owned satisfies the animal in me far too much.
It’s a balm to the torment of the last three years. Now, I want to do it on repeat so she never forgets who she belongs to again.
My palm scrapes over her bare breast as the other one dips between her thighs. She softens against me as I breathe her in and kiss her neck, torturing her with the slow slide of my fingers.
“Do you want to come, gattina?” I brush the words against her ear.
“Yes,” she murmurs.
“Then be a good girl for me tonight.”
I withdraw my fingers from her pussy and grab the red dress from the rack.
“You can’t be serious.” She turns to glare at me. “You’re just going to leave me hanging?”
“What part was unclear?” I unzip the dress and pull it over her head.
She adjusts the bodice and smooths the material over her hips. “Where are we even going?”
“You’ll see.”
I sweep her hair over her shoulder and zip her up, then turn her to face the mirror.
“Non esiste donna che possa eguagliarti.” I settle a possessive hand over her throat as I take her in.
This dress has had a feature role in my most depraved thoughts since I first saw her in it. It’s strapless with a low cut that bares her shoulders and the smooth skin along her back. The material has a silky sheen that gives it an almost liquid appearance, and it wraps around every curve on her body so perfectly, there’s not a chance anyone will miss her.
I’ve already imagined a thousand different ways I’d fuck her in it, but it serves a more significant purpose tonight.
“You know I don’t speak Italian,” she says.
“Then I guess you’ll have to learn.” I tip her head back, and my gaze drops to her lips.
Her heart beats a little faster as we linger in that moment, and she waits to see what I’ll do. I want to taste her, but I won’t take it from her until she gives it freely.
Reluctantly, I release her and step back, and we both take a breath.
“I just need a few minutes to touch up my makeup,” she tells me.
I nod, giving her some space while I wait in the living room.
When she reappears a few minutes later, she’s wearing lipstick that matches her dress and gold heels that wrap around her ankles.
I’m appreciating the view until she drops to her knees in front of me, holding my gaze as she unbuckles my belt and opens my trousers.
“What are you doing, gattina?” I ask as she strokes the length of my cock through my briefs.
“Since you like delayed gratification so much—” She peels down the fabric and wraps her fingers around me. “It only seems fair that you get to experience it too.”
She darts her tongue out, teasing the head of my cock before she milks the precum from the tip. Watching her lap it up will live rent-free in my head, but I already know that’s where it ends.
To prove her point, she presses a kiss to my shaft, leaving behind a red lipstick print. Then she tucks me back into my briefs and zips me up.