Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 26161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
“What are you doing later?” Tammy asks as she pulls the top of her dress up, putting her fake tits back where they should be. “I could go home with you. Show you a little more of what I’m good at.”
I toy with her bleached hair. Tammy, Tammy, Tammy. You try so hard. Instead of telling her what’s on my mind, I grin at her. “As enticing as that offer is, beautiful, I have to work. I’m on a short break, but I need to get in there to listen to Soul Prison.”
She pouts as she stands. I give her ass a little swat before tucking my wet dick in my jeans.
“The night’s still young,” I tell her. “I saw a couple of suits who look sorely out of place. Maybe you should give them a warm Tammy welcome.”
She laughs. “You’re an asshole, handsome.”
“Never claimed not to be one.”
As she sashays away, hot on the prowl for a new mark, I stand and seek out Natasha. Several men stand nearby, their obvious interest in her making her uncomfortable. She’s tense and keeps giving them the “back the fuck off” vibes.
Little lamb, you’re in the den with the wolves.
I glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes until Soul Prison goes on. Just enough time to see what has dragged Natasha into the VIP room of one of my favorite clubs. I want to see if her face can possibly sour any more while talking to me.
Before I can make my way over to her, my phone buzzes. William Warner’s name flashes across the screen. I have half a mind to send it to voicemail, but he’ll just bug the shit out of me until I answer. The idiot doesn’t have a filter. I can’t risk him leaving incriminating shit on my voicemail.
“What?” I grunt out, my eyes once again seeking out Natasha. Her back is turned so that I get a nice view of her curvy ass in her jeans.
“Where are you?” he demands. “I wanted to go out tonight.”
William—an old friend from high school who kind of stuck throughout the years despite our vast differences—doesn’t mean he wants to go out to party or drink or listen to bands. No, William wants to go out on a hunt for his next bed partner. While he looks okay if you’re into a perfect Ken doll look, he lacks the finesse and charm I have. I can grin at any woman, flash her a wink, and lead her to a back room where she’ll be all too happy to get a little kinky with me. William is too worried about his public image. He’s a sick bastard stuck in a pretty boy’s body. Instead of flaunting his darker tastes like I do, he hides them.
“I’m working,” I rumble.
I catch Natasha raking her gaze down my front. I’m hard to ignore. Not even Natasha, the little lamb about to get devoured, can ignore me. She hates me—thinks she knows me—but she can’t deny the way her body responds around me. It satisfies me to watch her high cheekbones flood with crimson.
“Tomorrow?” William whines. “Please?”
He can’t be left alone with his curiosity with kinks. I’ve already come to his rescue once over that shit. I’ll be damned if I do it again. I made the asshole promise not to do anything without my supervision. And because he’s somewhat in the public eye, he obeys me, knowing he can’t afford to fuck up again.
“We’ll see. Gotta go, man.” I hang up and run my stare down Natasha’s slender throat. It’s pale white, desperate to be sucked, marked, and bitten. My dick is hardening again in my jeans at the image of her neck purple and bruised. I have to fist my hand at my side to keep from stalking over to her and pinning her to the wall with my hand around her neck.
I start for her, and for a moment, she seems panicked. She stumbles back a couple of steps until her ass bounces against the wall behind her. A guy nearby laughs and says something to her. Fury causes her brows to crash together. I can practically see the steam coming from her ears. If I can piss her off by simply looking at her, then I can only imagine what sort of response I can get from her when I have her naked and beneath me with my tongue between her thighs.
She brings a shaky hand to her glasses and adjusts them. They were fine, but I remembered this nervous habit from the courtroom. When she was upset or couldn’t handle what the prosecutors were saying, she’d absently grab one side of her black glasses with her thin fingers and move her glasses a little. I also know she bites on one corner of her bottom lip when she’s about to cry.