Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
When my hair is clean, Peter guides my head under the spray, rinsing out the shampoo, and then applies conditioner to my strands. As he does this, he steps closer, his chest brushing against mine for a second, and my nipples tighten under the hot spray, my sex growing soft and slick as I feel the smooth head of his hard cock against my stomach.
He steps back a moment later, but it’s too late. The warm, relaxed feeling transitions into arousal so quickly I have no chance to guard against it. Though he’s barely touched me, I’m left breathless and trembling, aching for him. It’s a purely physical reaction, I know, yet it fills me with shame. I shouldn’t want him or this forced intimacy; nothing about this should appeal to me on any level.
Biting the inside of my cheek to distract myself with pain, I open my eyes and see him pouring body wash into his palm.
“Let me do it,” I say tightly, reaching to take the body wash from him, but he shakes his head, a sensual smile curving his lips as he moves the bottle out of my reach.
“Not yet, ptichka. You have to wait your turn.”
Stepping behind me, he starts washing my back, and even through the heat of the water, his touch burns me, each stroke of his rough hands intensifying the flames of arousal in my core. I try to focus on something else, anything else, but my heart is racing too fast, my body burning with equal parts shame and desire.
And fear. Though muted for the moment, it’s an insidious presence in the back of my mind. I haven’t forgotten what the man touching me has done or what he’s capable of. Perhaps some other woman in my situation would fight instead of letting him do this, but I don’t want him to truly hurt me. Yesterday, he subdued me with pathetic ease, and I know the outcome would be the same today. Except he might not stop once he has me stretched out underneath him.
He might give in to the darkness I glimpsed in his eyes tonight, and the game, whatever it is, would end in some horrible way.
So I stand still and stare straight ahead, watching the water droplets roll down the steam-fogged glass wall as his soapy hands slide over my back, my shoulders, my arms… my sides. It’s torture of a different kind, and as his hands move to the front, spreading soap over my quivering stomach before sliding up my ribcage, I can’t take it anymore.
“Stop,” I whisper breathlessly, my nails digging into my thighs as his fingers brush the underside of my breasts. “Please, Peter, stop.”
To my shock, he listens, lowering his hands to my hipbones. “Why?” he murmurs, drawing me against him. His chest molds against my back as his erection presses into my ass. “Because you hate it?” He dips his head, his stubble rasping against my temple as he traces the outer rim of my ear with his tongue. “Or because you love it?”
Either. Both. I can’t think clearly enough to make up my mind. My eyes drift shut, and goosebumps pebble my skin as his tongue dips into the hollow behind my ear, turning my insides to liquid mush. I want to push him away, but I don’t dare move in case I do something stupid, like tipping my head back toward the tantalizing heat of that wicked mouth.
“What is it you’re afraid of, ptichka?” he continues in a soft, dark voice. “Pain?” He bites my earlobe gently. “Or pleasure?” His right hand inches diagonally along my stomach, moving toward the aching nook between my legs with insidious slowness. He’s giving me every chance to stop him, but I can’t—not even when I realize his destination. All I can do is take quick, shallow breaths as his callus-roughened fingers breach the top of my slit and leisurely part my folds, exposing the sensitive flesh within.
“No answer?” His breath is warm on my temple. “I guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”
The tip of his finger circles my clit, and my breath stutters in my chest, my mind going strangely blank. It’s as if every nerve ending in my body has come to life all at once. I’m hyperaware of his big, hard body pressing against my back and his stubble rasping across my ear, of his large hand resting low on my belly and the hot water spraying down on us. And that finger, that rough yet gentle finger. It’s barely touching me, yet my whole body feels like a coiled spring, each muscle rigid with anticipation.
Dimly, I register a strange sound, and realize it’s coming from me. It’s a moan, mixed with a kind of gasping whimper. It fills me with shame, but the embarrassment only intensifies my arousal, all my senses centering on the pulsing ache in the bundle of nerves he’s so cruelly teasing. I can feel the slickness between my thighs, and as his finger presses harder on the exquisitely sensitive flesh, the ache transforms into an unbearable tension, one that grows and intensifies with every second. It’s both pleasure and agony, and it’s so acute I’m vibrating with it, waves of heat rolling over my skin. I try to hold it off, to stop the tension from cresting, but it’s as impossible as holding back the tide.