Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Her eyes flared wide, and I immediately kicked myself for the move.
“I’m…” I began to apologize, but she turned in my arms and pressed herself against me fully.
“Do you know how fucking hard it is to be a sexual being, for wanting sex, all kinds of different sex, and the men in my life treating me differently because of something that they think I should be traumatized by?” she asked.
I looked down into her indigo eyes and said, “Tell me, exactly, what I’m allowed to do.”
“Everything but hold me down and take me when I’m saying no,” she said.
I blinked, my blood boiling now.
I didn’t know whether to pull her to me and drop my mouth to hers, or to punch a hole in the wall for how that Pennington prick was about to pay.
In the end, she chose for me by saying, “I’m not fragile. I like sex. I like hard sex. Sometimes, when I’m by myself, I get my eight-inch vibrator out of my…”
I didn’t need her to say anymore.
For the last few days, everything had been leading up to this moment.
Before I knew that she’d been hurt, I’d wanted to take her roughly.
Against a wall.
Bent over my motorcycle.
In the back seat of my truck.
Anywhere I could get her alone for just a few minutes.
That would be all I needed.
I’d get us both off with barely any effort.
My hand smoothed up her arm starting at her wrist. I moved until I was cupping her throat, using my thumb to tilt her head up to stare into my eyes before saying, “No means no. Always has, always will. You say no, I’ll stop immediately.”
Something inside of her seemed to settle because I saw the visible wilting of her body before she said, “You’ll treat me normal?”
I dropped both hands and cupped her under her ass.
“I don’t know about normal…”
I want to go to dinner, then be dinner. Nothing crazy.
—Milena to Nastya
MILENA
“I don’t know about normal,” he said just before he bent down and captured my mouth with his.
We’d known each other for a matter of moments in the grand scheme of things. I’d liked everything I’d known about him.
I liked that he was rough around the edges.
I liked that he was a killer—did that make me sick?
I liked that he was unapologetically masculine.
I liked that he could break someone in half with barely any effort.
I liked everything about him, and that included how sexually attracted to him I was.
My body had craved his for days, and now that I had him where I wanted him, I wasn’t going to hold back.
I wanted to be free, and I had a feeling he’d make me fly.
His big, rough hands smoothed down my arms, past my hands, and to my hips. When he had a firm grip, he lifted me up effortlessly, not grunting even a little, and twisted us so that I was now sitting on the counter that was mostly free of products, stray hairs, and hairbrushes.
The moment my ass met the cool, granite countertop, I squeaked.
He pulled back from the kiss, smiling as he did.
“Cold?” he teased.
I shifted restlessly, my nipples pebbling for an entirely different reason, and said, “Yeah. These counters are freezing.”
He lifted me up again, let me slide down his body—and his erection was really, really hard—and reached for the towel that was on the hook next to the opposite counter.
Snapping it toward him, he spread it flat on the counter behind me with one hand and then lifted me onto the counter again.
This time it was warm, but I wasn’t sure if that was because he’d done it in a way that showed off his tight abs, or because the towel itself was warm.
Probably both.
He moved between my legs, making me completely forget about the chill, and pressed himself fully against me.
I looked up at him then, the height difference between us making my neck stretch, and said, “I’m not on birth control.”
His eyes flared. “No condoms.”
At first, I was thinking he meant he didn’t have any condoms.
But then I realized that he was telling me he wasn’t going to wear them.
“O-okay,” I said.
The gleam in his eyes let me know that he liked my response.
When he bent down and took my mouth again, I forgot my own name, let alone what he’d just said to rock my world.
There was only so much world rocking you could take until your mind literally shut down.
And that was exactly what happened with Cutter.
He made me forget everything.
Where I was.
Who I was.
What had happened to me.
The expectations.
The world.
There was only him and me.
No trauma.
No what ifs.
No should dos.
Just him, me, and the magic we were making together.
His hands were everywhere then, smoothing up the length of my body, gauging my readiness with the way that I shifted and shimmied against him.