Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
She nods. “Kumquat.”
Do not smile. Do not. This is serious. “Kumquat. Got it. What are your limits?”
She hesitates. Opens her mouth, closes it. I can hear her neurons whirring as she tries to figure everything out.
“It’s okay, baby.” I make my voice soft. “We can try some stuff and figure it out as we go.” Meaning, I’ll play with her the way I like and see if she can take it like a good girl.
“No kissing on the mouth.” She raises her chin. “If we kiss, the oxytocin will make us fall in love.”
I shake my head. “Not going to happen.”
“You’re not going to kiss me? Or fall in love?”
“I won’t kiss you until you want it.”
“I won’t want it.”
“You will. But if you do… don’t fall in love with me.”
“Don’t kiss me then,” she shoots back and tilts her head. “Maybe you’ll be the one who falls in love.”
“You don’t have to worry about that with me.” Love requires a soul. I lost mine long ago.
There’s nothing left of me but base desires. Food, shelter, sex. Life, liberty, and property. I take care of my own.
That’s why I don’t want a lover or a partner. I want a wife in the most medieval sense of the world.
A possession. A trophy. A toy.
But all this talk about kissing makes my cock weep.
“Come to bed, little bride.”
She shivers and nods, and I cup her small face and stroke my thumbs up her cheeks. The black latex slips over her pretty skin. The sight is jarring. Usually, I wear these gloves when I don’t want to leave DNA evidence on my victims, but I’m not here to choke her to death. I want her to live a long, blissful life as my pet.
“You’re still afraid to touch me.” She sounds mournful, but it’s like a glove thrown between us.
Challenge accepted.
I hold her gaze as I peel off the gloves. My fingers ache with sensation. My sense of touch is coming back. I’ve never wanted to touch my toys before. But with her, I don’t just want it.
I need it.
If my hand shakes a little as I reach for her, it’s only from the force of holding myself back from leaping on her, ravaging her.
I bury my fingers in her hair and rub her scalp. The dyed strands slip over my fingers. I can’t feel the sensation, not really. I can’t feel things like other people do, not anymore. But I know the strands are soft. Her eyes half close like they did in the bath, and she’s practically purring.
I maneuver her to the bed and sit her down, then lay her out. She’s mine to touch, mine to torment. I set my hands on her shoulders, and they look large and rough compared to her small frame. All that unblemished skin, ready for my marks.
Tonight I’ll be gentle. I want to examine my prize. Her sweet little breasts with dark nipples. The small bumps of bone in her delicate spine. The soft, wet place between her legs.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” Her brown eyes search mine. Her scent rises between us, and I’m licking my lips, ready to suck the lemon icing flavor off her skin.
“Yes, little bride. I think you’re perfect.”
13
Bella
* * *
I’ve spent so many nights in this bed, alone, fantasizing about a giant man who would touch me all over.
And now it’s happening! He leans over me, covering my naked form with his shadow. The reality is scarier than the fantasy. I have no control over him. He’s invaded my bedroom, and he’s touching me like he has a right to.
Which, by his mafia man rules, he does.
I don’t even want to fight. I want to lie here and take it.
Yolo!
Up close, I’m reminded of how big he is. My bedroom feels smaller with him in it. He dominates the space.
But proximity is a two-edged sword because the closer he is to me, the more I learn about him. His strengths. His weaknesses. This is all homework for destroying Fraternitas. Big, beautiful homework.
He’s got scars all over him: under the tattoos, cleverly disguised by the swirls of ink. Also, his chest is perfectly smooth. No signs of razor rash, either. It’s like he has no chest hair.
I didn’t notice these details in the bathroom. I was too preoccupied with lust… and wondering if he was going to choke me out and drown me.
The fear gives my excitement such a delicious edge.
He runs his hands down my front, focused on my skin. My nipples pucker, and he explores them, lifting my slight breasts. I’m not super curvy and have always wished I was. But he doesn’t seem to care.
You’re perfect.
I let my head loll back on the pillow with a deep sigh. His shape blurs. His scent sharpens. There’s a growing tension deep in my belly, and I want him to stroke my clit the way I like, but I’m also afraid. He’s teased me so long that when it comes, my orgasm might break me.