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)
I think I’m going insane, because all I can imagine right now is him inside me.
All over me.
Taking me with no mercy.
Sebastian slides his plate in front of me. “Eat.”
“I’d rather we talk,” I whisper, staring back at him.
He brushes his nose against my cheek and I shudder. “Then talk.”
“Not here. Somewhere private.”
He pauses, and I’m not sure if he’s reading the desperation in my gaze or not, but then he murmurs in a dark tone, “The forest. At seven.”
I gulp as images from that weekend assault me all over again. It takes all of my will to ask, “Why at seven?”
He strokes my cheek with his nose, making me shiver. “Because it’s night and you become my whore at night.”
19
Sebastian
It’s not supposed to be like this.
When I went to Naomi’s house that day and saw through the balcony door that she was alone, I planned to scare her a little, to play a prank by cutting off her lights and then jumping in front of her.
But the moment I grabbed her from behind, I knew, I just knew, that the child’s play wasn’t enough. The throb of her pulse beneath my fingers and the hitching of her breath was nothing like I’ve felt before.
Fear.
Raw fear that doesn’t even exist in horror films.
Deep fear that I fed from like a fucking junkie in need of more.
So I took it.
Even when she screamed.
Especially when she screamed.
Her pussy tightened with each of her sobs and wails. I believed the trembling of her limbs and the shaking of her legs as I tore through her cunt.
But I didn’t stop.
Not when she was at her limit and not when she sobbed or when she begged me to stop.
And definitely not when I realized she was a virgin.
Fuck me. I never cared much about that, and I ultimately preferred experienced girls, but when her blood coated my dick, a shot of ecstasy burst through me.
I’m her fucking first.
No clue why she waited this long, but I couldn’t give a fuck when she let my dick be the first inside her.
And now, I’m so tempted to make it the last.
Those thoughts intensified my fucked-up lust. I took and took until I became the beast I didn’t think I was capable of embracing.
Turns out, even I could reach new levels. Because I have a new surprise for her tonight.
After I went home that night, I told myself it would be a one-time thing, that we would both forget about how we fed off each other’s darkness and bury the experience in the past.
And yet, the thought of repeating it has been pulsing through me non-stop. It’s occupied my every waking moment. Right after I got to my apartment, I stood in the shower and jacked off to the sight of her blood on my dick and came faster than a pubescent teen with stamina issues.
But I fought going back to her house and climbing up to her window. Attempted to, anyway.
It was half-assed, but I picked up our text conversation right where I left off as if nothing had happened.
I intended to keep it that way.
But then I saw her today on campus.
Just the sight of her in her short black skirt and white top made me think about smearing her with my cum all over again.
My thought process only consisted of holding her down as she kicked and clawed while I fucked her senseless.
And just like that, any attempt of forgetting about what happened that night withered into thin air. Because the truth is, I can’t get enough.
I don’t think that’s possible in the near future.
Not when my heart thunders at the promise of a chase. Of grabbing her by the hair and forcing my dick into her tight cunt as she screams in both fear and pain.
Does that make me fucked up? Probably.
Do I care? Fuck no.
I’ve screwed more girls than I could count and yet, it’s always felt as if something was missing. I’ve done it rough and demented. I’ve fucked them until they couldn’t move, but while that got me off, it wasn’t special. It doesn’t even compare to the demented pleasure I felt when I tore through Naomi’s hymen, breaking her figuratively and literally.
In a way, it feels as if I’ve been waiting for someone like her. For someone who enjoys the twisted shit as much as I do. Someone who screams, cries, and claws, even when, deep down, they love every second of it.
Someone who begs me to stop but doesn’t use the word that would end it all.
Someone who comes by being roughed up.
I stand in front of my dimly-lit doorway mirror as I zip up my hoodie. A shadow covers my features. I have a face that I get praised for more often than I prefer. I’m called hot, sculpted, a beautiful creation.