Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 126522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
I grab his strong, defined ass and feel the sharp ridges of his abs, loving the way he seems to relax into my needy touch, and then all too soon, he pulls my chin up just a little higher, and with a deep, guttural groan, he sends hot spurts of delicious cum sailing right down my throat.
I don’t dare move, taking everything that he’s got for me and swallowing hard. He pulls out of my mouth, releases my hair in the same instance and I sink down deeper onto my knees, feeling the throbbing of my thoroughly well-fucked pussy.
I can’t help but watch Marcus as he pulls his pants on and tucks himself back inside. He doesn’t look at me and I’m grateful, needing that short moment just to breathe. He doesn’t bother with his shirt, leaving it forgotten in the corner of the room as he steps back toward me.
My eyes snap up to meet his just as his hand tangles into my hair again. He tears my head back, forcing my chin up as he bears down on me, that same fearless psychopath instantly returning. “Next time,” he growls with a furious anger. “You come when I say you come.”
And just like that, he releases me and walks out of my cell, leaving me sitting on the dirty ground, wondering what the fuck just happened.
9
I fucked a psychopath and I loved it.
Fuck, I didn’t just love it, it was the best damn fuck that I’ve ever had. It’s as though he could read my body like he was reading a book. He knew exactly what I needed and he didn’t hold back. It was rough, it was fast, and it was fucking dangerous. Just as he promised.
Fuck, I love a man who can keep his word.
Most guys talk a big game, saying how they’re going to give it to you hard and be the best screw of your life. They make all these exciting promises only to get you home, fuck you with a half-soft cock after drinking too much, rub your left labia until it’s red-raw, and then pass out after you told them that they couldn’t stay.
Not Marcus DeAngelis. He held up his end of the bargain. He did exactly what he said he was going to do, took what he needed without wasting my time, and then he fucked right off afterward. What more could a girl need? If only he wasn’t him.
Searching around the room, I pick up the discarded silk gown and sigh as it falls to pieces between my fingers. My underwear is useless and I’m sure as fuck not about to remain naked in this room. Marcus’ black shirt lays haphazardly in the corner of the room, completely forgotten and while I hate the thought of being naked, I hate the thought of wearing his shirt even more.
Having no choice, I pick up the old tank and sweatpants off the floor that had been left here from my first night in this hell hole, cringing as I pull them on. A million thoughts go through my mind, all focusing on the woman who these might have belonged to before me.
Bile rises in my throat and I try to swallow it down as the soft material hugs my body and brings me my first ounce of comfort in days. I hate this. I hate everything about this, but more so, I hate myself for letting Marcus Fucking DeAngelis screw me like there was no tomorrow.
I shouldn’t have enjoyed it. I should have been repulsed by his calloused touch, and I sure as fuck shouldn’t be wanting to do it all over again, but I do. Does that make me just as sick as he is? What the hell is wrong with me? What woman would allow that to happen, to allow her kidnapper to take pleasure in her body, to come in her fucking mouth and then swallow it down like a horny bitch?
Fuck. There’s a special place reserved in hell for girls like me.
There’s no doubt about it. Marcus made my body come alive for the first time in years, well, apart from when Tarzan did, but that hardly counts. But I’m no fool, I know this isn’t going to change anything. One good fuck isn’t going to suddenly have the guy fixing a halo over his head. When he gets his chance to finally kill me, he’ll take it no matter what. It’ll be brutal, twisted, and sick. That’s a guarantee.
He’s a monster who knows exactly what I taste like. If anything, that’ll only make things worse.
The reminder of his tongue sliding up the handle of the knife sits in the forefront of my mind and I find myself glancing toward my small bed. The black blade sits just below my pillow and I can’t help but wonder if he left it here on purpose.