Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46487 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 232(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
At a party, they’d let me take them to some quiet room and fuck them, just screw them, and why? What for?
When I find a woman – if I find a woman – I want it to have some kind of meaning beyond the mere mashing of our bodies together.
I let out a savage laugh, forcing myself to loosen my grip on the steering wheel.
I know that I’m not going to find this mystical person, so I might as well stop thinking about it. All I can do is focus on making the Cameno Family the best it can be.
And right now that means waiting for this open house to end so I can go in there and correct Maury’s mistake.
I watch, using the patience I’ve gained from years of working this job. People begin to leave half an hour later, couples walking hand and hand, heading out toward their cars. I stare hard at the house, wondering if there’s still anybody else inside.
Word of this Kimberly still has my alarm bells blaring within my mind.
In my world, being paranoid isn’t a negative trait.
It’s about survival.
It’s better to assume that the situation could turn deadly, rather than have it turn deadly when you had no idea it was going to happen.
Finally, the front door opens again and a woman emerges onto the front lawn.
I lean forward and stare at her hard.
She’s wearing a white shirt, black pencil skirt, heels, and black tights. Her blonde hair falls in wavy down to her shoulders, a little messy as if she’s ripped it free from a ponytail and let it cascade down.
My body goes tight, my heart hammering.
Her shape is curvy is the best way, her hips wide and made for grabbing, the sort of hips that will be perfect for when she gives me children, heirs.
I try to laugh off the thought.
I’ve just laid eyes on this woman and now I’m thinking about putting a child inside of her.
But I can’t laugh it away.
My manhood is a stiff rod in my pants, even from this distance where I can only make out the features of her face vaguely. She wears a wry smile, muttering something under her breath as she turns to lock the door.
Fuck, when she turns, she leans forward, and her tight-fitting skirt hugs onto the juicy bulbs of her ass. My balls start to ache and throb with the effort of holding back my desire.
Every instinct inside of me tells me to leap from the car and sprint across the lawn.
I’ll tackle her into the house and force her up against the wall, staring firmly into her eyes, one hand laid across her ample breasts – breasts that are begging to be freed from that shirt and sucked and bitten until her nipples are hard and needy – and my other hand will work its way up her thigh.
She’ll whimper when I press my hand against her sex.
But then she’ll relax and sit down against my fingers, shifting.
She’ll know that I have to claim her.
She’ll know that she belongs to me.
My head is a furious haze of blotted thoughts. It’s difficult to form anything coherent past all this nascent need.
My balls feel heavy and overfull as if my seed is roaring at me to plunge deep into that tight, wet pussy right now, pull her tights down just enough to get access to her precious hot hole.
I’ll fuck her like a savage, pounding her so that those big ass cheeks bounce for me, gorgeously big, perfectly big.
Fuck, she’s so curvy.
I return my hands to the steering wheel, gripping it hard. It’s the only way I can stop myself from reaching down and grabbing the throbbing base of my manhood, stroking as I watch her turn back to the lawn, her breasts giving an appetizing jiggle.
She walks down the lawn, heading toward Vinnie’s car.
I watch her as she gets closer. Her face comes fully into view. She’s wearing no makeup. Her cheeks are touched with a blossom of red. She looks young, maybe twenty years old, and that just makes my cock twinge with even more urgency.
She’ll be mine, just mine. She won’t be very experienced.
I’ll own her completely.
Then my eyes flit to the duffle bag, to the way she’s holding it.
She keeps her hand laid over the bag, looking up and down the street as she walks over to the car. My instincts flare when I see the protective way she cradles it.
Fuck.
I finally find the woman I want – I need with a bone-aching certainty – and she’s stolen drugs from my property. This means I’ll have to chase her down and take the drugs back.
But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
It gives me an excuse to talk to her.
To dominate her, to take her, to claim her in every way a man can claim a woman.