Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 132(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
I was right earlier. He is insane. But I think I might be, too. Because I'm actually considering this madness. I don't even know why because nothing about this is sane or rational. But something about him makes me want to place my hand in his and flee into the night with him. Actually, that's not true.
Everything about him makes me want to flee with him. I like him far more than I should. Every time he smiles at me, butterflies kick into flight in my stomach, and my stupid heart flutters. Don't even get me started on what's going on with my vagina. I feel my freaking heartbeat in my clit, which I didn't even know was a thing until he smirked at me.
"Come on, unicorn," he murmurs, his eyes boring into mine. "It's Halloween. Take a chance and run away with me."
Great. Just great. I'm either going to be murdered by a hot billionaire on Halloween. Or I'm going to sleep with one.
This is not how my night was supposed to go.
I hate you so much, Tyler.
Chapter Two
Drake
Ihold my breath, waiting for Madeline to decide if she wants to escape this nightmare of a party with me. One way or another, I intend for the infernal masquerade to end with her in my arms. Whether that's now or hours from now is entirely up to her.
I'm a patient motherfucker, but I can't even lie, though. I'd much rather it be now.
A billionaire spending Halloween at a masquerade party is about as cliché as you can get. And I fucking hate both Halloween and parties. Yet I let my asshole brother convince me to attend this damn thing anyway.
You need to get out more, Drake.
No fucking thank you.
You spend too much time alone.
Jack never stops talking, so silence and solitude are foreign concepts to him, but I prefer gratuitous amounts of both. Being by yourself is easy when you still remember being the butt of every joke throughout every goddamn year of middle and high school.
Until ten minutes ago, I was perfectly fine with the prospect of dying alone. Just me and my hand, rubbing them out until my goddamn balls shrivel and my sperm turns to dust.
And then I saw a curvy unicorn traipse into the bar with her eyes closed, complaining to baby Jesus about spiders.
A sparkling unicorn in a parade of expensive ballgowns? Fuck yeah, I noticed her. I was at her side in two seconds, the ground shifting wildly beneath my feet with every step.
Her costume isn't what has my heart beating out of my chest, though.
It's not that thick, lush body, either. Well, not entirely. That body has my dick throbbing like a motherfucker, but everything else about her has my heart pounding like a drum against my ribcage.
Even if she were dressed the same as everyone else in this fucking bar, I wouldn't be able to take my eyes off her. She's somehow both stunning and utterly adorable at the same damn time. Long lashes frame the biggest cinnamon eyes I've ever seen. Perfectly kissable, pouty lips say the sassiest shit. Minky brown curls frame her heart-shaped face, setting off her porcelain skin.
I want to sink into her curves and explore every perfect one like I'm goddamn Lewis and Clark. Her costume hides nothing—not the roundness of her belly, not the flare of her hips, not her gorgeous ass. She looks so fucking soft and sweet everywhere.
I was hooked the moment I saw her.
And then she went and put that perfect hand on my aching cock. It was all over with approximately point two seconds after she touched me. My first orgasm with a woman was damn near me cumming in my pants in a bar while she had her hand on me.
My entire fucking body started singing the Hallelujah Chorus. Not because someone was finally touching my dick, but because her hand was on my dick.
Every flustered word that's left her lips in the minutes since has only reconfirmed that she's something I need in my life.
I can't explain my visceral reaction to her. It's not just that I want to fuck her—although I definitely want to fuck her. Repeatedly, in fact. It's something else. Something innate. I know in my bones that she was meant to be mine in a way that's beyond words. It's just pure instinct.
Taking women home isn't something I do. It's something I've never done. But I intend to take her home with me tonight, and then I intend to keep her there for as long as it takes to convince her that she feels the same connection I do.
I don't think she's quite there yet. She's looking at me like she isn't sure if she wants to fight or flee.
Fuck. Maybe I should pretend I see the Sheriff coming our way.