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)
And now she’s trying to do it again. I glare at her. How stupid does she think I am?
She chuckles and wriggles her shoulders. “YOLO.” She sips from the mug.
Is she really drinking poison? I watch her for signs of distress, but she only wrinkles her nose. “Needs sugar. I have some honey downstairs, but I noticed you took it black in the diner. A good spouse should know how you take your coffee.”
Now alarm bells are flashing in my head. This would be a picture of domestic bliss—a loving wife brings her husband coffee in the morning so he can start his day—except I’m almost positive there’s poison in the cup. A typical marriage doesn’t have two spouses plotting against each other, and make no mistake, we are both plotting against each other. I intend to have absolute control over her. I don’t know what she’s plotting, but it’s probably my death. Or a way to hamstring me. She wants to test me, like she did last night. She’s looking for weakness so she can free herself and her father from Fraternitas.
I will never let her go.
Last night was everything I ever dreamed of. My own little virgin, obeying all my commands. I didn’t even need to restrain her. She was so good for me, I’m hard just thinking about it. She talked a big game, but when I touched her, she melted. And she seems fascinated by my body.
Maybe it’s wrong to use her innocent curiosity against her, but it’s just the sort of depraved thing a man like me would do.
As inexperienced as she is in the bedroom, she’s that much more knowledgeable about poisonous plants. I guess she would be fascinated by them, given what her father does.
She seems to have no qualms about using what she knows against me. My arm feels tight and hot from the rash.
And now she’s offering me a poisoned cup of coffee. “Are you sure you don’t want it?” she asks, an innocent look on her face and tilt to her head.
I take the mug from her and sniff it. Smells like normal coffee. No trace of almonds, which can mean cyanide, or garlic, which would mean arsenic.
Bella blinks at me, acting clueless. I need to read up on my poisons if I’m going to survive being married to her.
I set the mug on the bedside table. I’m not going to drink it, but I need to keep it away from Bella. She’s perky like she’s already had a pot of caffeine.
“So, I was thinking.” She sits on the edge of the bed next to me, swinging her legs, like we’re a normal married couple chatting about our day. “My friends and I want to do a sleepover. It’d be good for me to have some companionship. What are the chances I can go without you hovering over me?”
Slim to none. But I can bug the room and listen in to any plans she might be making to escape.
“Let’s make another deal,” I say. “Be good for me the rest of the week, and you can go to your friends on Friday night.”
“Deal.” If she’s annoyed at having to ask permission, she doesn’t show it. She keeps chatting about her schedule while I get dressed in the jeans and a T-shirt I pull out of my duffel bag.
I go to her closet and choose an outfit I want to see her in. A white dress with yellow flowers.
I lay it on the bed next to her.
“What’s this?” she asks.
“Put it on.”
“But I’m already dressed.” She’s in black and pink hot pants and a matching top. If she thinks I’m going to let her out of the house looking like a wet dream, she’s gonna learn fast.
“All right.” She shrugs and bounces off to the bathroom to change. When she emerges, the sight of her makes my muscles tighten. My dick, which was already hard, presses more firmly against the zipper of my jeans. I can feel that discomfort. Fuck, she still looks like a wet dream. My wet dream. She’s let her hair down, and it brushes her collarbone.
“Do you like it?” She sways back and forth, letting the light fabric swirl around her knees. She looks ready for Sunday school.
I want to fist that hair and drag her to her knees. Jack off over her face, make her suck me with those pouty lips. Come all over her. Defile her, so everyone who sees her knows she’s owned.
She smiles like she knows what I’m thinking. That I’m close to losing control.
This is how she owns me. And I won’t allow that.
I need to put her on a leash. I’ve never been into collars, not like St. James and some of his acquaintances at that sex club he owns. I can see the appeal of having a sub in bondage, but I don’t just want to control her body. I want more.