Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Get ready,” I growl as I feel my climax coming. “Don’t you dare spill a drop. Swallow it all like my good cum slut, m’kay?”
She moans her agreement, and the vibration does it.
I grip the steering wheel tight and push the gas a bit harder as I explode, the world almost dissolving in a rush of white light as I fill her eager mouth. And true to her bewitching nature, she drains every single drop from me, not missing a single bit.
Sitting back in her seat as I slow back down, Samantha hums and wipes at her lips in a ladylike move that belies the decidedly unladylike thing she just did. “Delicious.”
“You’re amazing,” I sigh as I fumble with resetting my clothes one-handedly.
Satisfied with herself, she smirks. “Feeling better now?”
I chuckle under my breath. “You know I am, and though I’d love to make you put a foot on the dash and watch you work magic on yourself too, I’ve been doing loops on the backroads to give us more time, and we’re late.”
Touching up her lipstick, Samantha cuts her eyes my way. “I want more than a quickie, and later, after we rock this dinner party, you can thank me properly. On your knees.”
“With pleasure,” I agree easily, more than eager to do that.
Before her, I never would’ve done something like this. I mean, I’ve never gotten so much as a seatbelt ticket and am more Boy Scout than Bad Boy. Doing wild things in the privacy of our homes, or even at the club behind locked doors, is one thing.
Doing them while driving down the road is another completely.
I’m so far from my professed morals and values that I don’t even know what to call myself. If the guys at the club knew what I’m doing with Samantha, they would accuse me of being a hypocrite. But I don’t feel like a hypocrite. I feel like the world’s finally making sense, and the chaos I constantly try to organize has instead become a beautiful, blurry watercolor.
I feel more in control of myself as we pull up to the estate, my remote control giving me unfettered access through the heavy iron gate. As we drive in, I notice the cars filling the parking area . . . minus Kyle’s motorcycle, of course, because there’s nothing that sets him off more than a mandatory appearance requirement. He’s probably left the city, if not the state, for the night.
“The whole gang’s here,” I note as I park. Looking over, I take Samantha’s hand. “You ready?”
“Is that a trick question?” she replies. “No one could be ready for this. It’s like asking if I’m prepared for a zombie apocalypse, but the zombies are all raccoons, and I’m armed with a whisk and a prayer. And you know how much I love raccoons.”
“A what?” I laugh, still not sure exactly what she just said. But she’s right, dinner at the Harrington estate with my whole family, plus Aunt Viv, is nearly apocalyptic, and no amount of planning or strategizing is enough.
CHAPTER 21
SAMANTHA
This is a big fucking deal.
Chance has been anxious about this dinner since Kayla made her surprise appearance, and I’ve done everything I can to help him chill, to no avail. I’m not sure if it’s the aunt thing, or his dad, or me?
Now that we’re here, I’m freaking out a bit . . . on the inside. Outside, I look around at the impressive Harrington estate as though it’s a typical suburban home, despite the artificially perfect green lawn, the scale of the front porch, and the museum-worthy statue in the center of the driveway.
Yep, nothing to see here . . . just a little-dicked Greek god standing amid spitting water streams.
Outside, I try to make it seem like that’s what I’m thinking. Inside’s a whole different story.
I do not belong here, for so many reasons.
Chance takes my hand as we approach the front door but stops short, staring at a large, deep red Lincoln Navigator with a custom license plate that says CHUCK. Sighing deeply, he mumbles, “Shit. I should’ve known.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Kayla said Aunt Viv was coming. I knew that meant her annoying son would be here, but I didn’t know my grandparents were coming.”
“I feel like I’m supposed to know why that’s bad, but I don’t.” I’m looking at the SUV like these unwanted grandparents might hop out and attack us, whether physically with smacking hugs, emotionally with backhanded compliments, or gastronomically with expired Werther’s candies from the bottom of her purse.
Chance drops his voice, and speaking quickly, he tells me, “Grandpa was a bit of an old-fashioned chauvinist with his kids. Only cared about having a son and started off with four daughters. When he finally had Dad, he put everything into him. Time, resources, education . . . the company. My aunts were hurt, in particular, Viv. And she brings it up. A lot. Grandpa learned . . . too late.”