Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Slamming my hand on his chest, I thump him as hard as I can, causing his grip to tighten. I don’t look away, not even for a second, as I raise my hand and hit him again. A low hiss escapes his mouth, as he takes a step closer, forcing my hand down, and oh, down it goes until I’m gripping the top of his jeans, pulling him closer.
“You want me to fuck you before you die, Ellie Mae?”
We both know he won’t kill me.
Marek would have left me in that water if he wanted me dead.
“Go ahead, Master. Show me just how evil you are.”
I shove his jeans down, forcefully, until I can feel the hard ridge of his cock against my palm. He lightens his touch on my throat, just enough for me to be able to focus, and focus I do. Shoving his jeans down further, I curl my hand around his cock as it springs free, hard and aching.
“You didn’t like watching me with another woman,” he taunts, sliding his free hand down until he’s cupping my pussy, a teasing taunt that he has all the power.
“I couldn’t,” I grind out, squeezing his dick, “give a fuck.”
“You’re a bad liar,” he breathes, pushing my panties aside and slipping his finger through my wet folds. “You’re so fucking wet for me, your body betrays you.”
“I never said I didn’t want to fuck you,” I breathe, stroking his cock, up and down, loving the way it pulses in my hand. “That doesn’t mean I don’t hate you.”
“Hate is the very fuel for desire,” he murmurs, pushing a finger inside me.
I gasp. “Don’t fuck me with the same hand you fucked her.”
He grins, his teeth flashing before he lowers his mouth to my neck and sucks. Shivers run up my spine and I can’t help the way my eyes close and a moan escapes my lips. He fucks me with his finger, slow and precise, dragging it in and out, murmuring how hot my cunt is. His words are filthy, and I love every second of it. There is something so dangerously addictive about Marek, and I’m finding myself unable to get enough.
“Fuck me,” I demand, holding back my orgasm, wanting it to be explosive when he’s inside me.
“So demanding,” he growls, sliding his finger from my depths.
Then, he fucks me.
He lifts me up and hooks my legs around his waist, before lowering me down onto his raging dick. My fingers tangle in his hair as he uses his own strength to lift me up and down on his cock, fucking me against that pole until I’m moaning his name. This only spurs him on, and his thrusts become wicked and deep as he races for his own release.
When he cums, he does it with his mouth buried into my neck, his growls rumbling against my skin and sending electric bolts down my spine. I clutch him, relishing in the way his cock pulses deep inside me, and the way my body burns as it stretches around him. Marek is huge and my body is feeling the effects of that, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting him more.
I’ve gotten myself into a lot of trouble here.
I don’t know how the hell I’m going to get out of it.
“TELL ME YOUR TERMS.”
His words come just as my eyes are getting heavy. I’m curled up on the sofa, blanket over me, after showering the cold water from my body and watching as Marek stood in the doorway, his eyes on me the entire time. I made sure to wash every inch of my body until his eyes flared with need and he took every item of clothing off his perfectly sculpted body before getting in with me, spinning me around, and fucking me against the wall.
The dull ache between my legs is a stark reminder that he was there.
“Terms?” I ask, sleepily, rolling to my side so my eyes don’t shut.
“Don’t play simple, Ellie Mae. You know what I’m asking you.”
I focus on him, laying on the bed, shirtless. This is probably the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. The hard expression on his face is slightly softer. It’s almost as if he enjoys me being here. Does he? Is that why he’s fighting for me to stay so badly? Do I offer terms? Will it do me any better to make him think I want to be here? Do I want to be here? I’ve tried to ask myself that question, and no matter how hard I attempt to get a straight answer. I can’t.
Thinking about going home, to my life, makes my chest sink with a familiar loneliness that I don’t like.
But thinking about staying, and never seeing my family again, hurts, too.
Then there is Marek...I know I should hate him, I know it, but something inside me is softening to him and I know that’s a bad thing – it’s something that is going to get me hurt, so why does the idea of leaving him make me feel a little broken?