Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Anger boils in my veins. I need to stop. I’ve made my point—she doesn’t want this. She can’t want this. Why the hell doesn’t she move? Push me away. Slap my face and tell me to fuck off.
The warm body I can’t tear my fucking mouth from falls limp as my hands cup her face. This is by far the dumbest thing I have ever done. Her hands cover mine, clawing into my skin like she’s trying to release my grip on her, but her hungry mouth begs for me to keep going. Why is she kissing me back like she’s trying to crawl inside of me?
I hate that her taste quenches something hidden deep in the dark shadows of my soulless being that’s been starving for so long. I hate that her warm touch feels like a jagged knife stabbing the pain I’ve tucked away for the day when I can avenge it.
If we don’t stop, she could awaken something that cannot be brought to life. Not ever.
I hate Nolan for planting her in my world. I hate this life.
I really. Fucking. Hate. This. Life.
CHAPTER TEN
My name is Scarlet Stone and I love sex. I believe if all emotion and reason were stripped from human existence, the answer to all physical questions would be sex.
Scarlet
I didn’t see this coming.
At. All.
The candlelit dinner wasn’t foreplay or some sort of seduction. I wasn’t lying when I told him I wanted a human connection. Apparently, to men, a human connection is sex. So why am I kissing him back like I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life? I skipped dinner. It must be my misplaced hunger. I planned on ravaging the leftover Japanese yam that’s on the top shelf of the fridge. My mouth has confused his for a yam.
“This means …” His lips brush along my jaw as he whispers in a shaky voice that sends waves of chills over my skin.
My head falls back, eyelids heavy. “Nothing,” I whisper or really moan. Of course it means nothing because it’s not happening. Dear lord, my body is misbehaving tonight. His right hand slips under my shirt.
Don’t beg, Scarlet.
I’m a cat leaning into his touch.
Don’t purr, Scarlet.
Until the warmth of his hand slid along my flesh, I had no idea how much I needed it. I do.
So. Very. Much.
We have to stop, and we will … as soon as he makes it to second base. Then, I will grab that yam from the top shelf and bid him a goodnight.
“Oh!” I don’t mean to yell, but he forgot second base, and I know this because he has ripped open my trousers—and by ripped open, I mean the button pinged against the tile and my zip will never work properly again—and his hand is down my knickers vying to capture third base. He can’t skip a base.
“You … you’re m-marking me,” I protest with a weak whisper as he sucks and bites at my neck like he didn’t have dinner either.
“You’re fucking driving me insane,” he growls into my neck.
No. He was insane before me. However, I’ll wait a bit to make that case.
Two of his fingers plunge into me, and I forget about hickeys, bite marks, and Japanese yams. My knees forget their job is to keep me standing. I didn’t like his finger retrieving food from my mouth. But its current location? I like it—a lot. Damn my knees for giving out because it forces him to remove his hand from between my legs to steady me. That’s unfortunate. Bollocks!
That thought did not go through my head, did it?
My name is Scarlet Stone, and I love sex. I believe if all emotion and reason were stripped from human existence, the answer to all physical questions would be sex. I know it should be food, too, but I’m starving right now and still, I choose sex.
He lifts me up and I wrap my arms and legs around him as he attacks my mouth again. So deep. So hard. So … angrily.
He carries me upstairs to my bed, and we become a frantic storm of clothes being ripped and discarded. This man hates me. His touch does nothing to hide it. Yet the second my back hits the bed, he plunges his hard cock into me with a deep grunt, knocking the wind out of my lungs.
No easing. No acclimation. Foreplay be damned. He’s punishing me. I can feel it. My existence pisses him off and this is his way of trying to scare me away.
While he fucks me, he whispers in my ear over and over, “This … means … nothing.”
I cling to him, because fuck him … I can use him the way he’s using me. He’s looking for a release, I’m looking for human touch. It’s not love, it’s not even sex. It’s … nothing.