The Fishermen (Infidelity #2)

by C.P. Harris

I wanted to shout for him to stop kissing me like he’d rather die than to tear his lips away from me. To stop touching me like he wanted to rip my skin away to get to the important parts of me. To stop making me believe that I’m something more than what I am when he gazed at me. But saying any of that would’ve required the ability to breathe, and right then, my every breath belonged to him.

He fucked me like the clock was winding down, like the world was coming to an end and he’d be damned if it did so without him claiming me thoroughly one last time.

Wolves didn’t want to eat other wolves, they wanted to feast on lambs.