Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
I stare into her eyes, and for a moment, all I can feel is rage—rage at her for breaking me, at myself for still wanting her, for still craving her even after everything.
“You don’t get to do this,” I snarl.
She looks at me, perplexed. “You don’t want me to kiss you? I’m your wife.”
“And it doesn’t mean what you think it means. It means what I fucking say it means.”
Her lips part, but no words come. The silence stretches between us. I roll her onto the mattress and look down at her. Her hair splayed out like a dark halo, her body trembling.
How could she look so angelic and be such a cheap whore?
My hands open her legs, rough and demanding. She gasps, but there’s no protest—only the soft, desperate sound of her surrender. I push into her tight heat again. She arches beneath me, her body welcoming me in a way that makes my head spin and my resolve shatter.
There’s no tenderness left.
All the softness we shared only moments ago has vanished. All that is left is something raw, frantic, a clash of need and anger that neither of us can control. I thrust into her mercilessly, relentlessly, my movements unrelenting, driven by a dark fury inside me. Her moans fill the room and they only spur me on, dragging me further into the madness of her.
The sight of her—flushed, trembling, completely undone—makes my chest ache with something I can’t name, something I can’t bear. I squeeze my eyes shut instead, letting the old memory of her burn into my mind.
But that memory is worse. It drags me back to another time, another place. When I believed she was everything to me. When I was totally convinced that she was the love of my life. She and only she would do. The sweetness of her, the way she used to whisper my name like a prayer—it all crashes into me now making me feel bitter.
I hate her for making me feel this way. For breaking me and still holding the pieces in her hands.
I open my eyes and pretend she is a street whore I paid for the night. Her belly is full of my cum and now I’m going to fill her pussy with it. I’ll fill her ass with my seed too. I don’t last long. The intensity, the heat, it’s too much. When I come, it’s with a force that leaves me trembling, my hands gripping her hips as though letting go will destroy me.
She’s not far behind. Her body tightens around me, her cries turning into broken, gasping sobs as she thrashes beneath me, clutching at my arms as though I’m the only thing anchoring her to the world. She calls out my name—or rather my middle name. She used to call me that all the time. A soft and sweet sound I haven’t heard in years.
“James,” she calls, her voice thick with emotion, and it’s like a punch to the gut.
I nearly choke on the flood of feelings that surge through me. It’s too easy to fall, to forgive, to let myself believe for even a second that we could go back. I hate how weak she makes me feel, how easily she strips away the walls I’ve built.
Her arms wrap around me, holding me close as she tries to steady her breaths. I should pull away. I know I should, but I can’t. Just for a moment, I let myself savor the way she clings to me, the way her perfume lingers in the air, and the way her body trembles against mine.
But I can’t stay. I won’t let her have that power over me again.
It takes everything I have to pull away and get off the bed. My chest feels tight as I move to grab my clothes.
I want to walk out without looking back. I look over my shoulder. She’s splayed out on the bed, her skin flushed, her hair wild, her chest rising and, between her open legs, her glistening just fucked, swollen pussy. She looks beautiful. Ravaged. And the best part is, I know I’m the one who made her feel this way. I know now. She will always be the wound that refuses to close.
I dig into the pocket of my pants and my fingers curl around my wallet. I pull out five one-hundred-dollar bills and place them on the side tab.
When I lift my gaze, she’s watching me, her hazel eyes wide with confusion and hurt.
I give her a dry smile, one that doesn’t reach my eyes, and turn away. I shut the door behind me and stand in the corridor for a second. Then I make my way back to my own bedroom.
CHAPTER 12
RAVEN
I can’t move at first. My breath is caught somewhere between my chest and throat, shallow and shaky. My shocked gaze returns to the crisp bills lying there on the side table, their edges too sharp, too neat.