Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
He steps into the shower.
And at the same moment, understanding hits me. It’s overwhelming at first. Dizzying, heady, bizarre, and terrifying.
This is real.
The danger is real. The guards are real. The cameras aren’t only to keep me in—they’re to keep me safe.
Someone wants my husband dead. And I think they want to hurt me, too.
I strip off my clothes in a rush. I’m not sure why I do it. Pure lust comes over his face as I pull open the door to the shower and step in. The rainwater head pours down his back and blood turns the floor tiles pink.
I drop to my knees in the watery blood and pull him to me. I kiss his belly, gripping his ass, holding him. His fingers dig into my shoulders. “June—“
I kiss again, down his cock, down the length of him. I lick his tip as more blood runs in red rivers down his chest and arms. I lick and suck and he turns stiff and hard in my mouth. I whimper, not sure what the hell I’m doing, and not caring. I take him deep and he moans as I do it, his back leaning against the wall, his hips thrust out, one hand fisting into my hair.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispers with a slight moan. “The paramedics said to take it easy.”
I don’t bother answering. I suck faster, stroking him, both hands working his massive shaft as I take as much of his tip into my mouth as I can. Spit rolls down, dripping, mixing with the blood. He groans and tilts toward the water, spraying more red around us. I suck harder, wanting him so badly it hurts, terrified of what might happen if I had lost him today.
If Hattie had lost her father.
I slip one hand between my legs and stroke myself. I’m shocked at how wet I am. I glide a finger inside then focus on my clit, grinding my fingers around it desperately.
“Fuck, look at you, all needy and wet for me. God, you’re so pretty with my cock in your mouth. You can barely take it. You’re struggling to suck me, baby, and you’re trying so fucking hard, I love it. You love being a slut for me, don’t you? Down on your knees like that, touching yourself? Oh fuck, I want you to come as you swallow me.”
I whimper, moaning, pleasure mounting as I stroke myself faster. I want him, want him, need him, I suck him sloppy and sticky, pausing only to pull back and gasp for breath. He bends down and kisses me, tongue wet between my lips, and I go back to working his dick. I’m spitty, stroking faster—
“Baby, fuck, please,” he groans, the quavering edge in his tone like heaven and hell all in one. “I can’t last much longer with you doing that.”
I go faster, sucking wildly, rubbing my pussy, and feel it peaking.
“All the way, you dirty fucking girl.” He grips my hair and thrusts his cock into my throat. “Oh fuck, that’s it, that’s fucking it—“
I come as he comes, the shattering like a shotgun blast, and I can’t breathe as he fills my mouth, and I don’t care as I stroke my pussy through it all. I pull back, gasping, swallowing, and he hauls me to my feet. I feel boneless, spineless, like I can barely stand, but he holds me and kisses me, running his hands over my body, whispering how good I am, how I did such a perfect job, how I’m so beautiful and he doesn’t deserve it and he’ll burn the world to make sure I’m safe.
I collapse into his arms. We stand like that, the blood rinsed clean, the water raining around us. His taste in my mouth, down my throat. His dick still hard, the orgasm ringing in my ears.
“Don’t do that to me again,” I say, closing my eyes as I lean against his chest. “Don’t show up all bruised and beaten like that.”
“I can’t make any promises.”
“You’re the boss. You have people to do the fighting for you.”
“That’s the problem with being in charge. All the responsibility is mine. I can’t ask people to do things I wouldn’t do myself.” He tilts my chin up and kisses me gently. “But it’s easier with you here.”
I wash him slowly, exploring his skin. He talks about some of his tattoos: how he got a strip of solid black to cover burn scars, the crow to signify his family, the dove with the broken branch for his lost baby sister. He tells me there was a fire a long time ago, but he doesn’t go into the details and I don’t ask him more.
But I notice the scars. The burn marks. They’re especially bad on his hands. The tattoos do a good job masking them, but now that I know, they’re easy to find.