Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I wanted her mind.
She was wily and adaptive and this was the only way I could harness a piece of her and make her stay.
I just didn’t know how much of myself I would give up in the process.
HIS HANDS CAME up.
I jerked away, but his strong fingers lashed around the back of my head, keeping me pinned. Familiar terror froze me as the button for pain doused my senses. I couldn’t stop it. I’d been brutalised too many times to override such an instinctual shutting down.
“I won’t hurt you.” His breath kissed me first. His promise did nothing to calm my nerves. The way he kneeled before me twined barbwire through my heart, making it bleed. In that one small position, he gave me more power, more respect than I’d ever been given.
It gutted me.
But then his lips landed on mine.
And the world slammed to a stop before spinning wildly in the wrong direction.
I didn’t know what to do, how to act.
Should I pull back?
Bite him?
Give in to him?
I froze.
Should I flee?
Hide?
Sink down where he couldn’t touch me?
I shivered.
I couldn’t do anything because his lips were the perfect collar, keeping me leashed tight and trembling.
First, his questions had worn me down, and now, he’d finally taken something physical.
A kiss.
His tongue slipped into my mouth.
My chin arched on its own accord, desperate for passion even when I didn’t know what it was. Bubbling, bulldozing heat whipped like horse-galloping chariots in my blood.
Master A rarely kissed me, and if he did, it was wet and wrong. But this…there was nothing wrong about this. Peculiar, definitely. Astounding, absolutely. But wrong, not at all.
My lips sparked for a different type of kiss from a different type of man, but for some reason, Mr. Prest stopped.
His mouth feathered on mine as if testing to see how far he’d pushed me, how far he’d pushed himself. His eyes blazed with the need to stop. But his lips beckoned me to start and never cease.
I wanted him to stop.
I needed him to stop.
But a small microscopic part of me denied my lies. My heart shook its head, reaching out for more tenderness, knowing without being told that this was the only time I would receive such a thing.
If I didn’t let myself live in this second, while a handsome stranger gave me something I’d forever thought was lost, then I was an idiot.
I did want this.
I needed this.
I deserve this.
“Do you want me to kiss you? Will you let me take one thing from you?”
Once again, his question was meant to trip me up and force me to reply.
He was good.
He’d befuddled my mind with dreams and kisses and now expected me to nod with permission.
But I’d been silent for too long to slip.
Instead of nodding or pulling away, I remained where I was. Our breaths mingling, our bodies tingling, and the chemistry that’d made us aware of each other from the beginning dragging us faster into its charm.
He half-smiled, huffing in impatience. “You really won’t talk, even though you know I’m not like him.”
I stared into his eyes, forcibly ignoring the call to answer.
I expected him to end the kiss he’d bestowed, to stand up and stalk away. But his gaze dove deeper, tearing past my unruliness, finding something he accepted.
“Fuck, you’re strong.” His lips landed on mine again.
His fingers tightened around my face, holding me firm. His hold was both comforting and a shackle.
Most of me wanted to run.
But as his tongue once again teased my mouth, I let go of what I should and shouldn’t do. In two years, I’d never allowed myself to think I was broken. I wasn’t broken. I was still alive. But I knew something Mr. Prest did not.
Master A wouldn’t care that his guest hadn’t slept with me. He wouldn’t care that nothing had truly happened between us. He would kill me anyway.
I’d been his most expensive trophy, but tonight was the night another man tarnished me, and I’d slipped from mantel to box.
To a coffin.
My heart jangled as if trapped in a money jar, desperate to feel something good before more bad could find me. I leaned into the kiss, giving him a soundless reply that yes, I wanted him to kiss me, that yes, I was grateful for what he’d given me, even though I still loathed him for using my father’s nickname for me.
The kiss changed from foreign to welcoming; our bodies fell together. His hands slipped from my face to my hair, yanking my head to kiss me harder. My fingers—both usable and broken—looped around his wrists, holding onto him rather than pushing away.
I never thought I’d find something so singular and sweet.
But I had.
He’d found me.
He’d given me one night of demands and acceptance, and this was goodbye.
All control drained from my body as my head lolled in his hold. I gave up entirely. Whatever this was, I didn’t want it to end.