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)
If I want this nightmare to end, I’ll have to willingly have sex with my tormentor.
“Come on, lie down,” Peter urges when we get to the bed. Removing the towel around me, he gently guides me under the blanket. “You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.” Once again, his touch is platonic, almost clinical, but I know he wants me. I see how hard he is as he climbs under the blanket next to me, feel the tension rolling off him as he turns off the lights and pulls me into his embrace, tucking me against his big warm body in the familiar spooning position.
He wants me, but he won’t take me—not until I give my consent.
I lie still for a few moments, trying to convince myself to do it. My stomach feels like a raccoon is battling a hamster inside, and exhaustion is a thick, smothering layer over my brain. With my eyes raw and my head aching from crying, the last thing I want is sex, but maybe that’s why I should do it tonight.
Maybe I’ll feel less awful about it if I don’t enjoy it.
Bracing myself, I shift slightly, moving my ass an inch closer to Peter’s groin. He stiffens, his breathing growing more labored, and I repeat the maneuver, rubbing against him as I shift back and forth on the pretext of getting more comfortable. With his thickly muscled arm folded across my ribcage, I have a very limited range of motion, but it doesn’t matter. We’re both naked, and the slightest brush of his skin against mine is electrifying, so filled with sensations that each of my nerve endings stands at attention. I can’t see anything in the pitch-black darkness of the room, but I can feel the crispness of his leg hair on the back of my thighs, smell his clean male scent, and my own breathing speeds up, my heart pounding furiously in my chest as his cock grows even harder, pressing against my ass like the barrel of a gun.
That’s it, come on. Ignoring the anxiety constricting my throat, I shimmy my hips a little more. I can’t bring myself to actually turn around and embrace him, but maybe with a little encouragement, his control will break, and he’ll reach for me. I won’t object; I won’t do anything to stop him. I’ll let him fuck me, maybe even pretend to enjoy it a little, so I don’t pose a challenge in that respect. I’ll just lie there and take it, and then it will all be over.
I’ll be a willing but boring lay, and he’ll get tired of me.
That’s the plan, at least, but as I continue moving, I realize some of my exhaustion is fading, only to be replaced by a warm, liquid feeling that originates deep in my core. With the darkness veiling everything, it’s easy to pretend that none of this is real, that I’m having another one of those twisted dreams.
“Sara, ptichka…” His hoarse whisper sounds strained. “If you want to go to sleep, you might want to stop moving.”
I still for a second, then slowly and deliberately shift against him again. “What if…” I lick my dry lips. “What if I don’t want to go to sleep?”
Peter’s body turns to stone behind me, his arm tightening across my ribcage. For a brief, irrational moment, I fear that he might refuse, that despite all indications, he doesn’t really want me, but then I find myself flipped onto my back, his heavy weight pressing me down as the bedside lamp comes on.
I blink, momentarily blinded by the light, and as his face comes into focus, I see that his gray eyes are narrowed, his jaw clenched tight as he holds himself up with one elbow. He looks furious, and for one horrible second, I wonder if I misinterpreted it all—if I made a huge error.
“Are you playing games with me, Sara?” His voice is low and hard, his accent stronger than usual as he captures my wrists and pins them to the pillow above my head with one big hand. “Trying to see how far you can push me?”
I stare up at him, a dark tingle crawling over my skin. This is so much like my dreams it’s uncanny. And at the same time, it’s different. My drug-fogged memory had painted him in harsh, cruel strokes, more monster than man, but that was wrong. There’s nothing monstrous about the lethally beautiful face gazing down at me. The dreams had underestimated the potency of his magnetic appeal, omitting the sensuous softness of his lips, the strong, noble line of his nose, the way his thick dark eyebrows pull together over those intense metallic eyes… He’s gorgeous, this terrifying stalker of mine, and as I lie there, pinned under his hard, warm body, I feel the dark tingle intensify, turning into something dangerous and forbidden. My nipples tighten, and a wave of heat rolls through me, my inner muscles clenching on a surge of aching need.