Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 130221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
“How do you know?” I ask, making my way around the corner and into his room. “Been watching me?”
He’s quiet, but he follows. Is this what Winslet wanted? Him? Was he the one she really desired?
Is he the reason she acted out? To get his attention?
“What have you seen?” I press.
Was he a watcher like Hawke?
But he pushes me in the back, and I crash onto the bed. I pop out my knees to get myself up, but cool air hits me between the legs, and I feel his eyes down there.
When I try to flip over, he comes down on top of me, threading his fingers into my hair.
I whimper.
“Shhh,” he says in my ear, but it doesn’t calm me.
I fist his sheets.
“I saw some things that surprised me,” he says. And then he slips his other hand underneath me, covering my breast with his hand. “Some things I liked.”
My stomach quivers. Hawke…
He squeezes my flesh over and over, moving it around, and then…his hand leaves my hair and he’s yanking my panties down.
“And some things y…you didn’t,” I pant.
He takes my hand and pushes it down between my body and the sheets. A groan escapes before my fingers are even between my legs.
Lifting my knee to the side, I open myself up and roll my fingertips over my clit. He pants into my neck and squeezes the curve between my thigh and hip.
“And then he pressed her into the mirror…” Hawke says, and he thrusts himself behind me.
The hard muscle in his jeans rubs so close, and I’m wet on my fingers as he does it again and again.
“No one will question it.” He rolls his hips, dry fucking me as I play and grind my pussy into his bed. “You know that, right? Just a girl, overcome with guilt, joining the boy in death that she couldn’t love in life.”
“Will you hang me?”
He bites my neck. “If you leave a note, I’ll do it any way you want me to.”
Yeah, I don’t think so. I don’t think he killed Winslet at all. She was his match.
“Aren’t you scared?” he gasps, and I feel heat drip out of me.
“Always.”
He holds me so tight, one hand on my breast and his chest covering my back as he breathes in my ear.
“Hawke…” I moan. It almost feels perfect. There’s something I can’t reach, though. More. Deeper.
I whimper into the pillow. Hawke. I’m always scared, but I can’t think about anything else right now. Just more. And more and more and more.
“Kill me,” Winslet taunts him.
He squeezes my neck, and I can almost feel the mirror pressing into my body. She watched him on her. Every second of it.
“I want what you never gave him,” he growls low.
And I want everything you’ve never given to anyone else, Hawke.
“Watch me,” I whisper, begging.
He stops thrusting, rising back up, and I squirm on the sheets. I rub circles, feeling the heat of his gaze on my ass as he kneads the skin.
Hawke needs this. He likes a view, and I’m lost. Blissfully lost, fucking for him.
I feel a bite on my right cheek as he squeezes a fistful of my ass and sucks the skin.
I cry out.
“Pay me for my pain and suffering,” the boy breathes over my skin. “Pay me.”
Coming back down on me, he thrusts so hard—my cunt aching for him—and I know he’s right there. Trying to feel me and get inside me, but not ready to take off his jeans.
“Kill me,” Winslet begs.
He reaches down, taking over fingering me as he mimics fucking me, rolling his hips again and again. “I could never.” He bites my earlobe. “You’re far too pretty. I have other plans.”
I whimper, Hawke pumping on top of me, and I know I feel the head of his dick, but then his tongue comes down, trailing up and down my back, and I burst open, coming. I arch my ass up into him, needing everything, and then he groans, not holding back, because there’s no one here to disturb us.
His fingers slide inside me, deep, and I cry out as he thrusts them in again and again.
“Hawke,” I gasp, squeezing the sheets with my forehead buried in the bed.
I move into his hand, riding it out.
Oh, God.
He pulls out, gliding his wet fingers over the skin between my legs and lingering as his forehead rests on my shoulder. For a minute, we both catch our breaths.
“Was that okay?” I ask him. “You don’t feel badly about it?”
I wanted to tell him to get his clothes off. If he’d wanted me, I wouldn’t have stopped him.
As our orgasms ebb away, though, I’m glad for his control. He doesn’t want his first time to happen like this.
“No, uh…” He rolls off me and onto his back. “The story, maybe? I don’t know. It took me out of my head. It felt good.” Then his eyes dart over to me. “Are you okay?”