Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Naomi: You don’t get to treat me like a piece of meat in front of everyone, you fucking asshole.
Sebastian: He was a problem and I had to take care of it.
Naomi: By being a caveman?
Sebastian: If need be.
Naomi: That’s not how it’s supposed to be.
Sebastian: None of this is how it’s supposed to be, baby. Now, stop making this a fucking event and go where I told you. I’m going to tear through your ass until the whole campus hears your screams tonight.
Maybe that will douse the fire that’s been burning inside me since I saw the way that fucker was looking at her.
The dots that indicate she’s typing appear and disappear, then reappear again before her reply comes in.
Naomi: What if I don’t want to?
Sebastian: You clearly do or you would’ve broken the spell.
Naomi: You’re still an asshole.
Sebastian: Stop tempting me with yours. Now, go. Walk toward the west wing and keep going.
I’m heading there myself, my strides long and purposeful as my breathing deepens with the promise of the hunt.
Owen’s parents’ house is big enough that they have a few wings. The loud music slowly fades away as I step out of the populated area and stalk in the shadows of the vast garden. The small light coming from the few bulbs gives me a restricted view of the place.
This part of the property is rarely used by Owen’s family and is only taken advantage of when they need to ride the horses in the stables.
But that’s not why we’re here.
The sound of neighing echoes in the air and soon after, I spot the red fabric of Naomi’s dress.
She’s walking slowly, her gaze shifty as she watches her surroundings. There’s nothing I love more than that look of both fear and excitement etched on her beautiful features. The way her lips part and her eyes widen. Even her nostrils flare the slightest bit, but it’s not visible in the semi-darkness.
The horses neigh again and Naomi flinches, slapping a hand to her chest.
My dick grows rock fucking hard as I stalk in a parallel line to her, remaining in the shadow of the stables so she doesn’t see me.
It’ll be fucking worth it when I finally jump her, then tackle her to the ground and take her like the caveman she described me to be.
The light of her phone casts a glow on her face as she types with stiff fingers, her gaze shifting at the slightest sounds.
Soon after, my phone vibrates.
Naomi: And then what?
Sebastian: And then you run.
26
Sebastian
If I sat down in front of any of the therapists who my grandparents made sign NDAs that basically said their souls would be sold on the black market if they divulged any of my secrets, they would have told me I need coping mechanisms.
Maintenance.
Cognitive behavioral therapy.
Group therapy.
All the good stuff therapists love to sing in different tunes to avoid spelling out the word insane.
You’re different, they would say. It’s okay to be different.
That’s about the only thing I came out of therapy with.
Being different could be either a blessing or a curse, depending on how I treat it. If I act like a victim, that’s all I’m ever going to be.
If I act like the assailant, however, things could diverge in another direction.
I found out early on that I couldn’t be obvious about my purging. And that’s when it became tricky. My bursts of violence could only be hidden for so long before my grandparents caught up to my activities.
So I bottled them inside until they began to fester and metaphorically attack my internal organs like cancer, with no cure.
Until her.
The girl who’s running because I ordered her to.
Because she wants it as much as I do.
Because she has bursts of violence, too. Only, she’s on the receiving end of it.
Her direction is neither methodical nor calculated as she lets her legs carry her across the vast grounds.
My blood pumps hot in my veins and the internal festering I’ve been experiencing for years disappears. My chest constricts, but my legs stretch and I sprint behind her.
My nostrils flare and my muscles turn rigid with the promise of the chase.
Naomi flinches when her foot catches on something on the ground, but my pretty little toy doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t pause.
And doesn’t ever…ever look back.
Like a perfect prey whose only concern is to run away.
She’s fast, even with the way her dress clings to her thighs with every move. Even with how her pace is frantic and disorganized at best.
I breathe in her fear that’s permeating the air and listen to the sound of her shattered breaths that break the silence of the night. The music from the main house still reaches us, but I don’t hear it over my controlled movements and her frantic ones.
Naomi gives it her all. It’s never half-assed or a makeshift attempt at escape. She sprints at the highest speed her body allows.