Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I rubbed that sample all over me, then stalked back downstairs, stinking of expensive cologne as I stepped into the kitchen. I felt his gaze burn into me as I passed by him at the pantry. Probably hiding more of his stupid Pop-Tarts. I was so mad at him that I hadn’t even stolen any this week.
I’d just opened the fridge when his breath hit the back of my neck.
His nose swept the length of my throat on an inhale. “I’d almost think you’re doing this on purpose.”
The same way he’d left his phone out on purpose. My brain screamed for me to get a grip while my pussy egged on this psychotic clusterfuck. “Doing what?” I said, closing the fridge door.
His arm came around my waist, his fingers moving to my zipper before he lowered it. Triumph washed through me when he yanked down my shorts.
“What did I fucking tell you, Lola?” He tugged me away from the refrigerator, and I half fell, half tripped into the kitchen table—right before he forced me face down over it.
Papers and bills scattered to the floor.
“I smell that shit on you.” He grabbed my hair, jerking my head back with a bite of pain.
I caught our reflection in the window across from the table, and my pussy tightened.
“You’re going to watch me fuck you so you remember exactly what you look like when you come with my dick inside you.”
The only warning I got was the clink of his belt and a rip of foil before he slammed inside of me.
Hard.
Brutal.
Claiming.
But I didn’t want sweet. I didn’t want anything that felt like love. I wanted his anger, craved the twisted rage and hate that seemed to ignite every bit of fire in me.
“Fuck—” The smack of his hips against my ass echoed around the small room. “Your pussy.” He fucked me hard, sinking so deep that I knew my thighs would be bruised from hitting the edge of the wooden table.
And just like that, the first sparks of an orgasm trickled through me.
“I told you to watch.” His fingers gripped my chin and forced my gaze up. “Fucking watch.”
Two more thrusts and I came harder than I ever had. My pussy pulsed around his dick as I watched him pound into me like he hated me.
The second I started to come down, he pulled out. A low groan slipped from his lips before he tore the condom off. Warm come hit my ass.
Without another word, he zipped his jeans and left the kitchen.
I felt used, empty. But wasn’t that exactly what I’d wanted?
I pushed off the table, grabbed the paper towels, and wiped his come off before pulling my shorts back up.
The noise on the TV changed. Then changed again. He was channel surfing like he hadn’t just hate fucked me on the kitchen table. Asshole.
I walked through the living room and to the stairs without sparing him a glance.
As soon as I slammed my bedroom door, my phone pinged.
I clicked on the new email from Waffle Hut, frustration bubbling inside. We regret to inform you that your application for employment has not been accepted. That was the final rejection from all the applications I’d put in last week.
Groaning, I flopped back on my bed. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do for money.
I didn’t have next week’s rent, seeing as I gave Hendrix the fifty bucks I stole from the church. I’d tried to do things legally, but I was running out of options.
As if the dickhead could sense the need to kick me when I was down, I got a text from Hendrix. Who was only downstairs and still had the smell of my pussy on him.
* * *
SATAN: The power bill is $200
* * *
SATAN: Water is $100! Stop taking long showers.
* * *
He couldn’t even talk to me after we had just fucked? He really made it easy to hate him.
* * *
Me: Stop pointing a box fan at your balls and playing stupid video games.
* * *
Didn’t change the fact that I needed money, even if he did stop using so much power on his stupid PlayStation.
While risking jail time really wasn’t on my to-do list, there was only one person who I knew I could go to for money…
I fired off a text to Sweet Willy, praying to God I could remember how to hotwire a car since Hendrix had never really taught me. Then I pushed my feet and went downstairs, stopping in the living room doorway.
The box fan was on high, gunfire from his stupid game blaring through the TV speakers. On a huff, I marched over to the wall and pulled the plug for the extension cable. Silence descended, and I turned to find him staring at the slowing fan blades.