Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
"Your body doesn't lie, Scarletta. Your pussy doesn't lie. You can tell yourself you're horrified. You can convince yourself this is wrong. But your body knows the truth."
I'm shaking harder now.
Uncontrollable convulsions.
"You write about this. Over and over. Men who kill for their women. Men who destroy anyone who threatens what's theirs. You write about it because you crave it. Because somewhere deep in your psyche, you want to be valuable enough that someone would burn the world down to protect you."
No.
That's fiction. That's fantasy. That's not—
"And now you have it. A man who killed for you. A man who'll do worse if anyone ever hurts you again."
His voice drops lower.
"So tell me, Scarletta. Do you really want to leave? Do you really want to go back to your empty apartment, and your blanket fort, and your stories about men who don't exist?"
Silence.
I can't speak.
Can't think.
Can't—
"Or do you want to stay here with the monster you've been writing about your entire adult life?"
Chapter 12
Caleb
Go. Or Stay.
These are her choices. It's just that simple.
But to a girl like Scarletta, nothing about sex is simple. She's got a dark side. A dark side she's been hiding her whole life. A dabble here with that sick fuck, Derek. A dabble there, writing down her fantasies isn't nothing. But it's still a fantasy.
She's breathing very hard now. Shaking like a little bird. Teeth chattering, even though it's seventy-two degrees in the foyer. Whimpering like a puppy. Completely lost all her composure.
"I'm gonna need an answer, little slut."
She gasps at the insult. Except, it's not an insult.
I pet her cheek. "My good little slut, I should say. If you want to be. If you're ready."
"Ready for what?" she asks.
My fingers are playing with her lips now—soft, full, slightly parted as she struggles to catch her breath. I'm picturing them doing all kinds of things to my cock. Wrapped around it. Stretched wide. Those perfect lips forming a perfect O as I push inside. The visual alone makes my dick throb against my zipper.
"To become the woman you've always wanted to be," I tell her, my voice low and measured. "To free yourself from the shame that's been eating you alive for years. To not only understand your desires—those dark, twisted, beautiful desires you've been pouring into your stories—but to actually experience them. To live them. That's what I can give you, Scarletta. That's what this night is really about."
I pause, letting that sink in, watching her pupils dilate even further.
"In addition to the forty-four thousand dollars, that is." I let my thumb drag across her bottom lip, just enough pressure to feel how soft it is. "Because if you leave right now, if you walk out that door, you don't get paid. Not a single fucking cent. I'm not going to force you to stay here with me—that would defeat the entire purpose. But you need to fully understand exactly what you're walking away from if you go."
I lean in closer, so close I can feel the heat radiating off her flushed skin. "If you want the money, you need to earn it. Every. Single. Dollar."
"What do you want me to do?" Her voice trembles, barely a whisper.
I let out a low scoff, sharp and dismissive. "It's not what I want you to do, my little slut. It's what you want me to do." I watch her chest rise and fall in rapid succession. "That's why you checked those boxes, isn't it? Why your hand probably shook when you filled out that form, heart pounding, pussy getting wet as you imagined each scenario playing out in vivid, excruciating detail."
She sucks in a long, shuddering breath, and I can hear the war playing out in her head—the part of her that wants to deny it battling with the part that's desperate for this.
"You want me to play with you," I continue, my voice dropping lower, more intimate. "Tease your pussy with toys until you're begging. Spank you until you can't sit comfortably for days. Heavy bondage—rope, leather, steel, whatever strikes my fancy—until you can't move a single inch without my permission." I pause, letting each word sink in. "But that's not even the best part, is it?"
Her breathing hitches.
"You want me to degrade you too. Control you. Everything. What you eat, when you eat it. When you're allowed to piss. Every sexual act, down to the smallest detail. You want me to fuck with your head, treat you like furniture when the mood strikes, make you confess your sickest, darkest, most disturbing desires—the ones you've never told another living soul. The ones that make you question if there's something fundamentally broken inside you."
I reach up quickly, my hand fisting in her hair with enough force to make her gasp. Then, slowly—agonizingly slowly—I pull her head back until she's looking straight up at the ceiling, her throat exposed, vulnerable, the long line of her neck a pale offering in the dim light.