Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I stopped when I felt my orgasm getting close.
I didn’t want to go yet, not when it felt this good—this right.
I’d never, ever felt anything that would ever compare to this moment in time.
He watched me watch him, our eyes staying connected for long minutes.
Sweat started to drip down his face, but he still continued his slow pace.
I could feel the head of his cock kiss the entrance to my womb with each plunge, and I suddenly realized that whether I was playing with my clit or not, he was going to make me come.
And then he balanced all of his weight on one arm and reached for the hand that was touching my clit minutes before.
He brought my fingers up to his mouth, and then sucked them into his mouth, one at a time.
My pussy clenched, my back arched… and I came.
It was all I needed.
By sheer force of will, I managed to keep my eyes open and watch him through it. It was one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life. But the way he watched me and then followed me over moments later? I’d have that memory buried deep for the rest of my life.
I actually felt the pulse of his cock as he came, shooting himself inside of me. Once. Twice. Three times.
And then he stilled.
Our breathing was uneven, but he didn’t waver in his eye contact.
“I love you back, Cobie,” he whispered. “I’ll never, not ever, take that for granted again.”
And then I started to cry all freakin’ over again.
***
It was an hour later, my rescued dough was in the oven turning into a wonderful, delicious smelling bread when I broached the subject.
Dante was busy shoveling food down his throat, partaking in my mad baking skills—skills that only made themselves known when I was stressed. He was on his fourth chocolate chip cookie when I finally found the nerve to ask.
“What took you so long?” I whispered, pouring milk into a glass for him and studiously gazing at it instead of giving him the eye contact that I was sure he wanted.
When he didn’t say anything, I finally looked up to see him staring at me.
His eyes changed from sorrow to calculation.
Was he trying to gauge my gumption?
I stiffened my spine and gave him my full, undivided attention.
“What?”
He licked his lips, and then scratched behind his ear.
“I would have found you three and a half months ago… but… stuff came up.”
My mouth dropped open. “And you just left me here to wallow in self-pity? All this time?”
His lips twitched at my outrage. Was he amused by this?
“Drake decided to make a move after you left.”
My mouth fell open.
“You’re joking.”
He winced. “No, not joking. Not even a little bit.”
“What did he do…”
And then Dante dropped his half-eaten cookie, stood from his stool, and rounded the counter.
“I’m okay.”
I frowned. “Well, I noticed.”
“No, I’m okay. I don’t want you to freak out.”
“Okay…”
He stopped a foot or so away from me and started to lift his shirt.
I gasped.
The marks on his arms weren’t the only thing new.
I could see his ribs. He had abs, of course, but Dante had always been thick and muscular. Now I could see all of his fucking ribs.
And then he turned…
“Oh my God.” I started to reach out but froze mid-air. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Dante… what happened?”
His back was a mess of the same little lesions that were on his arms and hands… only they were so much worse, it was downright terrifying.
While we were making love, I’d felt the ridges underneath his T-shirt, of course.
But my body had been so focused on him… on what I was feeling… that it never registered on me that what I was feeling were actually wounds.
I’d thought, at the time, that they were just part of his T-shirt.
They weren’t.
“Dante,” the gasp left my throat. “What… what is that?”
He turned and stared. “Whip marks.”
“Whip marks?”
“Yes.”
“How…”
This wasn’t computing. Why would Dante stand still long enough to get those marks on his back. And they weren’t even all the way on his back. Now that I paid more attention to his front, they were on the side of his neck. His ribs. They even circled around his hips and curled around to his front. Down his pants.
What. The. Hell?
“When you left, Drake found me.”
“And he smacked you around with a whip, and you let him by just standing there?”
I really wasn’t seeing how this could happen…
“No, he caught me off guard.” He paused. “I was outside your house. My mind was fucked up. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d said to you—which I’m still fucked up about, by the way—and I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. Something hit me in the back of the head—they said it was probably a two-by-four—and when I woke up, I was in a cell underneath your old house.”