Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
He took the three long strides I’d put between us, then reached for my hair and twirled it around his finger. “I’m not going to jail, little doll. The police won’t come. I promise. Now, let’s go inside.”
His smell was there again. Making me weak. My panties had left damp and gone right into the wet territory. He put his hand on my back and pressed. I walked. Straight to the porch, up the steps. I unlocked the front door while he stood there behind me. So close that his scent and warmth felt like they were seeping into my skin.
The tingling, exciting thrill that I’d wanted to experience when Tyron touched me was showing up with gusto now that it was Thatcher’s touch. My head was doing its best to convince the rest of my body to keep my guard up. Let the man talk, then send him on his way. Unfortunately, my head was the only part that wanted that. The others were clamoring for more. To the point that I felt feverish.
When I was inside, Thatcher’s hand fell away, and I heard him close and lock the door behind us. I turned, crossing my arms over my chest to face him. He wanted to talk, and I needed to get myself together.
“What is it you need?” I asked him.
He wasn’t letting me keep my distance. Once again, he closed in on me. It was either I stood my ground or I backed up until I hit the sofa behind me. I shoved his chest to make him back up instead.
“Let me breathe!” I ground out.
He didn’t move, but his fingers wrapped around my wrists.
“Don’t,” he warned, but his hold on me was gentle. Almost too gentle. As if I could break free if I tried.
I tugged at them, and he tightened just enough to stop me, but it was still not enough to even bother the bruised wrist.
His gaze dropped to my wrists as if he’d read my thoughts, and I watched as a strained expression crossed his face. The bluish imprint of his fingerprints had started to fade, and the tenderness was almost gone. I held my breath as he lifted the bruised wrist to his mouth. Unsure of what he was about to do, I sucked in a breath when the tip of his tongue trailed over the skin. His eyes lifted to mine as he did it all along the mark he’d left.
My heart slammed against my chest wildly, either from the intimate touch or the fact that his eyes were so black now that I could barely see the white. It was disturbing and maybe a touch thrilling. A quiver between my legs caused me to press my thighs together.
“I paid for this,” he said gruffly, still licking me.
“What?” I asked. My voice was barely above a whisper.
“Hurting you. I paid for it.”
If I could think straight, I might understand him, but I was confused.
“I don’t—” I shook my head and gasped as he licked at the tender spot on my wrist where my pulse could be found.
“I was locked up. Underground. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t get to see you,” he said, releasing my wrists.
His eyes dropped to my chest.
I would not feel inferior because of my almost-C-cup boobs, but I did wish he’d not look at them that closely. I also wished I wasn’t breathing so fast and hard.
“But you threw my cookies away.”
I said nothing, but continued to watch him lick me. Yes I’d thrown them away. I hadn’t wanted anything from him.
“Why was he coming in here tonight?” he asked.
“He was my date,” I said, stating the obvious.
Thatcher’s hand slid over my bare ribs, and I bit my bottom lip, afraid I was going to embarrass myself and moan. The rough calluses on his palm felt like hot little flicks of electricity as he inched his hand up and under my top until he was cupping my breast. I was gonna make a sound. Oh God, I did not need to have an orgasm over this. He’d run from me again, and I’d never recover.
“Were you gonna let him do this?” he asked.
I nodded.
His other hand reached around and untied the back of my top, then snatched it from my body and tossed it away, leaving me bare in front of him. Both his hands covered my breasts now, and he squeezed hard.
“What about this?” he asked. His voice sounded on edge. As if he were getting angry.
He had no right to get angry. I didn’t belong to him. He had no claim on me.
“If he wanted to,” I replied.
Thatcher’s eyes flared, and the black pools reminded me of the flames my father spoke of in the pits of hell. The slight pulse between my legs was followed by a shocking gush. I’d never been this wet. Not even when I masturbated.