Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Why an A?” I blurted, desperate to change the subject.
“This?” He moved my hair over one shoulder and began to lightly trace around the brand, causing me to flinch. “Not only does it look good, it feels good too. It will be even better when it’s had time to heal.”
He made it sound as if he were talking about more than the mark. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I’m surprised I didn’t draw blood. “The A means something, right? I… I saw it a lot yesterday.”
“Do you think I would allow it to be on your body if it didn’t?”
“I guess not…”
“The A honors the surname Alistair. It’s a symbol of my family’s emblem.”
Hearing that, I finally looked at him. Against the ethereal backdrop of the lake, with the sunshine softening the sharpness of his features, he looked otherworldly.
His face was the epitome of masculine beauty, and in any other circumstance I might have been captivated the same way I was when I first saw him.
“Alistair? Your last name isn’t Hawthorne?” I asked slowly, processing this revelation as I sought confirmation.
“Hawthorne is an alias.” He raised his hand and brushed his fingers over my cheek. It was a touch that could’ve been considered tender if not for the man touching me.
“I suppose the A has a double meaning where you’re concerned.”
“Your name?” I guessed; the question was no more than a whisper as everything sank in.
“Alexander Alistair,” he revealed with a note of pride. “You catch on quick.”
Alistair. That sounded so familiar. As my perception rapidly shifted, a fresh dose of fear seeped into my veins. I decided right then that his alias was preferable to the real thing. Hawthorne was nothing. Mr. Hawthorne was the insane rich guy channeling his inner Kevin Wendell. But Alexander wasn’t some random psycho holding me captive.
After what occurred last night and everything I’d seen, I knew his name was a symbolic moniker.
It didn’t simply hint at danger and darkness—that’s what it entailed. I felt like he’d just shared something that was usually hidden, binding me further to him and to the sinister world I had been thrust into. I wanted him to take it back, or at least pretend I hadn’t heard.
“My beautiful girl,” he implored almost mockingly, now tracing along my jawline. A dark amusement danced in his eyes as he sensed my inner turmoil, a sardonic smile playing at the corners of his lips. He seemed to relish in my unease with a twisted satisfaction.
"There's no need to be afraid," he murmured, his fingers now creating a maddeningly gentle pattern on my skin, moving across my back. "My name holds power, yes, but it also signifies a connection. Isn’t that a good thing?”
“We don’t have a connection,” I countered, my mind feeling as if it were on the verge of shattering into a million pieces.
“I’ll prove it to you.” Suddenly, his hand was gripping the back of my neck. "Kiss me.”
“What?” I tried to lean away; his grip tightened.
His gaze didn’t waver. He stared at me with his gorgeous topaz eyes, reaffirming his command with silence. I swallowed, struggling to keep myself on his lap as his cock brushed against my apex. He’d gotten hard the second I straddled him. I’d been doing my best to ignore it.
The task was becoming increasingly difficult. He was blessedly endowed unaroused. The opposite had me wondering if he’d really been all the way inside me. Leaning in, my heart raced as our mouths met. The kiss was a collision of conflicting emotions. The touch of his lips against mine was electric.
He groaned, nipping my lower lip so hard I whimpered. He soothed the sting with his tongue and deepened the kiss. I didn’t have the chance to wonder what I was doing or if I was doing it right. He possessed me entirely with his mouth.
My hands had somehow wound up on his shoulders, my breasts pressed against his chest. His cock brushed against my entrance, and then he was inside me, a low curse spilling between us.
There was an unexpected pleasurable burn from his rough entry. All the soreness from the prior night refreshed. His cock filled me and then kept going. My pussy was forced to stretch and adjust around the sheer size of him.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathed, holding me tightly. He began to guide me up and down, breaking our kiss just as something between a moan and sob tore from my chest.
The water sloshed, spilling over the side of the tub. I could feel how wet I was even submerged, my body creating a natural lubricant as he forced me to ride him. I moaned helplessly, struggling to keep him from going so deep inside me.
The effort was futile. He drove me down onto him with ease. His face didn’t convey any noticeable signs of pleasure, but the way his muscles tensed and the way he held me did. I looked him in his eyes and dug my nails into his shoulders, trying to hurt him a fraction of the way he had me and ward off my pleasure.