Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I didn’t know I needed it or would even like it. I thought he gave me exactly what I needed last night, but I woke up sore, my face crusty with cum, and I needed more. More of the same, something different, it didn’t really matter.
It bothers me that he isn’t speaking to me. Even if he opened his mouth to make threats I know he’s more than capable of following through with, my skin would feel like it’s on fire. I wouldn’t be fighting the urge to itch at it like an addict in need of a fix.
I huff a laugh at the thought. Street drugs have nothing on the drugs I use in the form of pain, abuse, and regret.
The danger makes me no less in need of what he may have to offer.
I feel like a child willing to get punished by acting out because being ignored is so much worse than abuse. I’m starving for it. I knew I would be tossed away, discarded like trash. It’s what always happens, but I never wanted it to happen so fucking soon, not before I was used up and worthless. There are still so many cries of pain, so much begging for him to stop, left in me.
Why the hell can’t he see that?
The desperation makes my stomach turn.
The ghosts in my head demand attention.
His silence and mine aren’t the same.
“I’m glad we ran into each other. I’m not on a case right now, so I have nothing but time on my hands.”
I grin when his fingers flex on the steering wheel, but instead of putting the truck in park and teaching me a lesson, he slowly pulls away from the ravine and back onto the road.
I have no idea why I’m taunting him. I like having the upper hand unless I’m working. It’s the contrast in levels of stability that makes my heart sing.
I’m only allowed to be weak when captured, when in the pits of hell, some sick fuck’s basement, and when it’s sanctioned by the Bureau.
I’ve never done this before, tried to push someone into losing their shit so I can feed those dark parts of me outside of work.
Maybe I’m restless. My handler still hasn’t gotten back with me, and I know that’s his own damn choice. The man doesn’t put his life in danger the way I do. He sits in his cushy ass office in DC. He goes home to his wife and two kids every night. There’s no fucking reason for him to be avoiding me. When he takes a vacation, he forwards my calls and communications to someone else. He’s punishing me because I took another break, because the last time I was in Costa Rica, there were too many close calls.
He knew this would happen. He knew I’d get the itch to get back to work. It’s a power move, and I fucking hate him for it.
“I can just ride along with you for days,” I say, instead of focusing on Alan and his lack of communication.
His jaw twitches, but he doesn’t say a word.
Fuck him and this damn silent treatment.
Fuck wanting him to speak to me.
I hate that he’s put me in this position.
Last night flashes in my mind, the pain, the pleasure, the way he did exactly what I needed. I swam in it last night as I lay crying myself to sleep. It was exactly what I needed and I hate myself for it. I hate him for it.
Most importantly, the thing I’m trying to keep from filtering in is why I went into his room to begin with.
I’m not working. I’m not on some mission to bring a dirtbag to justice.
I know it’s the delay in assignment. I need to work, and since Alan is being a dick, I have to find that outlet somewhere.
Ignoring me is another form of punishment Angel is using, only this time, I hate it completely. I don’t want the emotional punishment without the physical. The two go hand in hand, and he’s depriving me of half of what I need.
I watch his face as he slowly drives the streets of Farmington. Maybe if I push him far enough, he’ll flip that same switch he did last night.
Reaching for his thigh, I hide my grin when his leg muscle tenses.
He’s not exactly immune to me. The tightness in his leg speaks of his hatred for me, but the beginning of a bulge in his jeans tells the other half of the story.
The man wants to fuck me. He enjoyed what happened last night even if he refuses to admit it. There’s power in it, his ability to act a certain way while his body betrays his lies. I feel hungry for it, the lack of control he has on his cock when I touch him.