Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“And you don’t want them to see me.” Her eyes narrowed in disgust. “Of course…I’m your dirty little secret.”
“Or maybe I just don’t want to share you.”
“Who is it?”
“My family.”
Her hostility slowly faded away. “Your family?”
“My parents and sister. They’re coming over for lunch, and they don’t need to see you.”
She pulled her arm away slowly. “You’re going to hide me from them forever?”
“Not sure yet.”
“They won’t even notice me over here. Tell them I’m just a member of your staff.”
Now my patience was really waning. I’d never had to argue with someone so much. My orders were followed without question, and her constant inquisition was really pissing me off. “If you don’t get your ass in the house, I’ll slap that pretty face of yours until my handprint is marked on your cheek. Do you understand me?”
Instead of taking off in fright, she stood her ground. Then she did something I never could have anticipated. She stepped closer to me, getting right in my face. “Do it. Slap me.” She placed her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. She even turned her face so I had perfect access to her cheek.
I’d slapped my sister when I was seven years old, and my father beat my ass for it. He told me to never hit a woman as long as I lived. If I did, he would hunt me down and beat my ass again—no matter how old I was. I wasn’t afraid of the pain, but I was certainly afraid of his disappointment.
The tense silence stretched between us. Muse stared at me with the same hostility as before, hardly blinking as she met my gaze. Then she finally turned away and headed to the house. “That’s what I thought, Conway.” She walked away, her hips shaking as she made her exit.
I watched her, infuriated, hating myself for letting her prove me wrong. I should have given her the beating of a lifetime to put her in her place. But my anger was mixed with the deepest wave of arousal I’d ever felt. Something about her telling me off got my heart racing. She didn’t hesitate before she called me an asshole, and she didn’t hesitate before she called my bluff.
Fucking hot.
* * *
I walked into her bedroom and found her pile of dirty clothes and boots in the hamper with the plastic lining. She stood at the dresser, looking through her underwear drawer in search of something to wear. She was buck naked, her braid still hanging down one shoulder.
I stared at her perky ass, the lines under her cheeks perfect. I was hard before I stepped into the room, but now I was even harder than a rock. I crossed the room and wrapped both of my arms around her waist. Then I tossed her on the bed, her back hitting the bed that the maids made shortly after she woke up.
She didn’t fight me, but she still wore the same look of loathing.
I dropped my bottoms and didn’t bother with my shirt. I climbed on top of her and pinned her down with my size. My cock was inside her instantly, and I fucked her hard. There was no beginning, middle, or end. It was a just a hard fuck, my cock stretching her small pussy before I even gave her a chance to get used to me.
Almost instantly, that hostile look faded away. Color filled her cheeks, and her eyes became lidded and heavy. Like a patient failing to fight off anesthesia, she couldn’t resist the spell her hormones were casting over her.
All I knew was I needed to fuck her—and I needed to do it hard and fast. A million sensations rushed through me in that moment. I was pissed and horny at the same time. I deepened the angle and folded her underneath me, using her for my own perverseness.
She started to moan because she wasn’t bothering to fight it this time.
Good.
I liked the way she stood up to me, called my bluff when she didn’t know what would happen. It was dangerous and stupid, and I respected her bravery. I respected her for speaking her mind and holding her ground. Anyone else I interacted with would have flinched at my intimidation, but she never did.
“Slap me.”
She held on to my wrists, the place where she usually touched me. Her hands never explored my body unless I was kissing her. She touched as little of me as possible as part of her resistance.
“Slap me,” I repeated.
Uncertainty was in her eyes.
It wasn’t a trick, a way to give me the opportunity to slap her back. I really just wanted her to hit me.
She finally hit her palm against my face, but it was weak.
“Harder.”
She hit me again.
“Come on, Muse. Show me how much you hate me.”