Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
My hips hit the bar, and I twist, trying to break his grip—but his hand is already in my hair, shoving my face down on the surface. My cheek scrapes against the wood, my breath catching—and I am so fucking wet. Not one goddamn porn scene I’ve watched in years has made me this wet.
Fuck. Fuck.
I can’t see him, but I can feel him—his heat pressed close, his breath skimming the back of my neck. That breath I’ve heard in my dreams, for whatever fucking reason he gave me.
“Let me go,” I snarl, but it’s half-hearted. Part of the game. I have to push back so he pushes with me. I elbow him and connect with skin—he lets out a surprised little grunt—before the belt loops over my wrists.
“Naughty, naughty,” he chides, shaking his head at me.
“Aww. You’re not as predictable as I thought. I really thought you’d whip me with that first, with all your big-guy talk of punishment and all.”
I’m wet at the very thought. God, I love a fucking belting.
As if answering a prayer, his hand slaps against my skin hard. Welting.
I gasp, hating how wet I already am, how my pulse pounds between my legs.
I feel the loss of his heat at my back and crane my neck to see him bent over the pool table. When he prowls back toward me, he has a long pool stick in his thick hands, his predatory gaze pinning me in place. In one swift move, he snaps the stick in half over his knee. The sound alone makes my stomach drop—and my pussy clench.
Oh no.
He grabs my neck, pushes my face onto the gleaming bar top, and slaps the thin part of the stick across my ass. Even over my clothes, it stings like hell.
The second slap lands.
The third.
The thin end of the pool stick whips across my ass, sharp and merciless, and I let out a scream. I try to wriggle away, but he pushes one broad arm across my back and holds me in place, his grip like iron. The next lash whistles through the air before it hits so hard the sting makes me see white. My hips crashing into the bar, a startled yelp escaping my lips.
I hate him. I hate myself even more—because I fucking want this.
“You know you deserve to be punished,” he says, his voice dark silk. “You broke a promise. You played games. You thought you could get away with this, didn’t you?”
The next strike lands right where my ass meets my thighs. My knees buckle—and my panties are fucking soaked.
“You thought you could get away from me, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did,” I snap, my voice ragged. “You fucking sadist.”
His low, dark chuckle makes my nipples hard. My thighs tremble, my face burns, and I’m desperate for friction between my legs. The need claws at me, tinted with shame.
I should be afraid—but what I’m really afraid of is that he’ll tie me to this bar and leave me.
I expect him to stop, to pull back.
“Good girl,” he murmurs in my ear, dragging the thicker end of the stick down my spine. He slides it on the bar as he reaches for my leggings and rips them down. “Give me that wet cunt. Give me my wet cunt so I can fuck it. Own you. Mark you.”
He kicks my legs apart with one booted foot, and the sheer force of it—the casual ownership of it—makes me shudder. I’m scared, I’m shaking, and I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my fucking life.
He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t ease me into it. The pool sticks in Paris are thinner than other ones, but still—this thing isn’t—is he—no.
The glossy, thick end of the pool stick presses against my dripping heat, forcing my body to stretch around the unyielding wood. I gasp, half pain, half pleasure. The wood scrapes just enough to remind me that this isn’t gentle. This isn’t romantic.
This is punishment.
Chapter 9
ANISSA
And they say men can’t find the G-spot.
Holy fucking shit, he’s found it, and he’s assaulting it with the wooden tip of the pool stick. A spasm of pleasure rushes through me, and my hips are off the bar, my breath strangled in my throat.
“Fucking soaked,” he growls, half approving, half angry in my ear. “You act like you hate me, but this fucking greedy little cunt knows who owns it. Good.”
I bite my lip to hold back. I don’t wanna give him the satisfaction, but the wood inside me’s unyielding, pushing me to the edge, pushing me closer to bliss. It feels so fucking good. My cheek presses against the cold wood of the bar as my body stretches around the thickness of the pool stick.
“You wanna come, little witch?” The varnished end of the pool stick throbs inside me.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
My back arches in my throes. “Little brat’s been playing fucking games for weeks, but the second I’ve got her pinned down, the second I get this greedy little cunt’s attention—she’s fucking dripping all over my fingers.”