Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
I want to be able to breathe and not be consumed by him.
Which is next to impossible.
You don’t just let someone like him touch you. No, his sole purpose is to consume, and he does it like he was made to do it. So fucking effortlessly.
“Elicea,” he says my name and I slap my hand over his mouth to stop him. My other hand grabs my breast, pinching at my nipple as I start to ride the wave that’s coming. Add in his words and I see the fucking stars. I want to see the moon not the stars, he takes the stars and doesn’t give them back. I’ll keep the fucking moon.
“Shut up,” I scream at him, sitting up and wrapping my hands around his neck, riding out all the pleasure he can give me.
He chuckles in my ear. But doesn’t stop, not until we both come.
When I do, he lifts me up and carries me through a darkened hall before he flicks on a light. Lifting my head from his shoulder, I notice it’s the bathroom. He turns the tub jets on—the water already filled to the top—and he steps into the bath, water coating us as he places me down, my head still lying on his chest because now I’m fucking exhausted.
“This is the end,” I say as his hands roam over me. I can smell him everywhere now and I realize he’s washing me with his soap.
“If you think so.”
“I know so. We don’t work.” I hear and feel his chest rise then slowly fall. “You see me as nothing more than a worker.”
He doesn’t say a word as he finishes washing me off then lifting me back up and wrapping a towel around us before he starts walking again.
“I’m a broken man, Elicea. I’ve seen things, done things no man should do. I know what color blood turns when it’s drained from the body, I know the sound a man makes as he takes his last breath. Do you understand Elicea? I’m not normal, I do things that aren’t normal, it’s the broken part of me who likes the abnormal. It’s why I am here with you.” His breath touches my ear. “Just like you, you’re broken too. I can see it, but you may not be able to withstand my broken.”
“You don’t know what I can withstand, you may be surprised,” I say as my eyes grow heavy. The last thing I feel are silk sheets followed by lips touching my forehead.
It’s quiet, so quiet when I wake up. I almost forget where I am for a second until my hands reach out and feel the silk, and that’s when I remember I’m at my boss’s house. Probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But I did tell him it was the last time. Sitting up, pulling the silk sheet with me, I look around for my clothes, which are in a neat pile on the end of the bed. Quickly getting up and dressed I go to look for him, but I can’t find him anywhere. He’s not in his kitchen or even in his living room.
My cell sits on the counter but nothing else. It’s like I wasn’t even here with him. No glasses or bottle of wine, no traces of anything. Walking to the other end of the house with my cell in hand I try to listen for noises, but I hear nothing until I see a door I didn’t notice last night. My hand touches it and I call out his name. I get no answer in return. Pulling it open, I’m jarred back by the blast of music that follows.
How did I not hear that from the other side of the door?
Is it soundproofed?
Steps go down and wind around. Looking to the bottom I don’t see anyone, but he has to be there. Who else would be in there with music blaring like that? The sound of rock music is overpowering and vibrates through the stairs as I take the first step. My heart begins beating loudly and I try to calm it down, but it doesn’t work. It just pounds even louder, almost deafening me over the music.
I can’t hear myself on the steps and as I get to the last three, I look up and that’s when I see him. He’s covered in blood, the smooth, clean chest that I want to kiss and do terrible things with is now coated in someone else’s blood. Blood, that clearly isn’t his. It belongs to the man who’s tied to the chair, because his blood drips from him and it’s running everywhere. A scream leaves my mouth when I realize he’s missing fingers. It drips away from him as eyes zone in on me. Creed doesn’t move, just watches me for a single heartbeat. Is this what he was talking about, is this his broken?