Read The Token 8: Kiki: A Billionaire Dark Romantic Suspense for Free Online Page A

together.
    I stand and move stiffly to the bathroom.
    I step close to the mirror, inspecting every bit of my body.
    My shoulder is the first place that indicates I screwed Chet three times. Teeth marks form a crescent on my skin.
    My flesh isn't broken, only marred.
    My fingertips trail over the marks. The skin is slightly inflamed where he branded me.
    God... it's as if he wants every man in the world to know I've been with him.
    I scowl.
    Like peeing in a corner.
    What's wrong with me? Why did I let Chet walk in my door and fuck me... like that?
    I cast my eyes away from my reflection.
    Because it's what I wanted.
    I can't blame him for being so quick at seeing so deeply inside myself I don't have time to hide.
    But I can't let it happen again. It hurt so good, but I'm not his on-demand booty call.
    And there's The Bitch, Chloe.
    I grip the sink, remembering my nails digging into Chet's back. My pussy gives a lustful pulse.
    Great.
    I turn and walk the two paces to my walk-in shower that consumes half the size of my small bathroom. I give the faucet a vicious twist to the hottest setting.
    Maybe I can purge my bullshit.
    I step under the spray and adjust the temperature to a non-boiling lobster setting.
    I hiss when the water hits my female bits. Goddamned.
    I can't be with him again. He's some kind of fucking sadist. Teeth. Vertical fucking. God.
    I remember him holding my arms above my head and biting my nipple.
    I've never come so hard in my life.
    I soap everything, wincing at the sting of where his teeth touched me.
    His cock's too big for pleasure, but... he fills me.
    Indecision is so foreign inside my head. It’s like a diseased seed that germinates. Why can't I operate and excise it? I lean my head against the glass block, the cold surface warming beneath my fevered flesh.
    Then there's him leaving without a word.
    Who fucks someone three times and leaves without a word?
    Sin, that's who .
    I step out, the water dripping from the spigot a tapping echo against the tiles. I wrap my hair in a towel and a second around my aching body.
    Once I’m in my bedroom, I slide into black yoga pants and kick away the hot pink ones as if they're on fire. They hit my dirty clothes hamper and lie there, mocking me—ruined panties knotted inside the Y of the crotch.
    I chuck my body towel on top of it all.
    I carefully slip my arms through the straps of my bra, grab a teal T-shirt from the dresser, and tear it over my head, towel and all. There'll be hell to pay if my hair doesn't have some time drying in there. I pad out to the kitchen and start coffee.
    It's definitely not a tea day.
    I glance around my condo and see my entrance table is an inch out of place. I look at the wall Chet nailed me to and search for proof of his pounding.
    I swallow, walking over there slowly.
    Drywall flakes dust the floor to the left of the little glass table. His cufflinks glint in the low light from the window.
    I trace the dents in the wall and place my hand in a fist-sized divot. It engulfs my hand, and I snatch it back.
    I've endangered myself. Chicken flesh sweeps over my body with the realization.
    Chet Sinclair is a six-foot-two-plus, lean, mean, rich sadist.
    And I let him fuck me.
    Three times.
    As though I have no brain. As though I'm just a vagina with a beating heart. He doesn't give a shit about me. I'm just the new flavor of the what? The month? Week?
    He should ring every trigger that I have, yet somehow, and this is the sickest thing of all, I felt consumed by Chet.
    I'm the flame, and he's the oxygen. I burn brighter with him near.
    God help me, I felt safe.
    It's so many degrees of twisted and fucked up.
    What am I going to do? I grab my cell, parked in its usual location on the kitchen table.
    No messages.
    That's not true. I have plenty of messages: Faren, Thorn, Juliette, a fucked up missive from Mom.
    Damon Axton— again .
    Just no messages from Chet.
    I glance at the cufflinks and startle when the doorbell sounds.
    I set my