Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
My sweet little Kyah isn’t going to know what hit her.
Dropping her keys back into her bag, I continue searching, glancing over the random shit in here and looking through the identification cards she has stashed in her wallet. I take a mental photograph of her driver’s license, committing it to memory, then look over her bank cards, knowing I’ll soon have these numbers memorized like a childhood phone number.
After putting her wallet back in just how I found it, I go for the gold—her phone. Only it’s not here, and I mentally scold myself. She must have it with her out in the shop, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll take it tonight, making a clone as she sleeps soundly beside me.
God, just the thought is getting me hard.
I wonder how she liked the gift I left for her the other day. She’s so beautiful, she deserves another. Hell, she deserves a new one every fucking day. It’s a tall order, but I’m sure I can handle it. But hell, with the way she’s got me jerking off, my dick’s either going to develop calluses or fall right off. Worth it though.
Excitement drums through my veins at the thought of getting to go back to her home tonight, and with that, I put her bag back up on the shelf of the storage cabinet and slip straight back out the door with the mold of her front door key safely in the palm of my hand.
5
KYAH
It’s a little after seven when I finish with my last client of the day, and while I clean my station, I listen to Crew trying to work his new online planner, all but beating it to get it to work. With a tattoo gun, he’s incredible, but when it comes to other forms of technology, he’s absolutely hopeless.
“I can hear you laughing back there,” he calls over his shoulder, forcing a smile across his face as his client walks out the door, leaving us alone in the shop to finish closing up for the night.
“Me? No,” I laugh. “I would never.”
He groans and quickly switches the loud music off, probably just as eager to get out of here for the night as I am. It’s a Friday night, and as a general rule, we usually don’t get out on a Friday or Saturday night until after ten or eleven. Hell, I don’t even know what to do with myself.
Crew turns off the lights at the front of the shop, leaving just enough light from the back for me to finish up what I’m doing, and as he waits for me, he strides to my chair, perching his fine ass on the edge. He’s silent for a while, watching me as I sanitize my station, and when I cut in front of him, his hand snakes out, gripping my wrist.
I pause, my gaze lifting to his as his thumb brushes along the inside of my wrist. His other hand lifts, bracing against my waist, and my knees tremble as the tension in the room becomes almost too much to bear.
His dark eyes linger on mine before slowly trailing down my body and to my arm—the arm he’s been working on for the past six months. “When are we going to finish your sleeve, Ky?” he asks, his tone so deep that I know that’s not really what he’s asking me. Not even close. He wants to know when we’re going to stop tiptoeing around each other. When we’re finally going to give in and admit that we’d be great together.
“Crew,” I warn, shaking my head as I gently pull my wrist free, only his other hand tightens on my waist and holds me close. “Don’t force this.”
“I’m not forcing anything,” he murmurs, his fingers grazing my shoulder and slowly trailing down, making goosebumps spread across my body. His gaze lingers on his touch as though he can’t wait to devour me. “I know where you draw the line, but fuck, Ky, sometimes I wish I could destroy it and bend you over this fucking chair.”
He pulls me in closer, and I step right in between his open legs, hunger pulsing through my body at the thought of just how well this man could fuck me. God, he would have me falling to pieces, ruining me for any other man.
I brace one knee on the chair, high between his strong thighs, and lean forward, breathing him in. God, he’s fucking delicious. His hand shifts from my waist, trailing around to my ass and firmly squeezing, not even close to easing the need pounding through me.
My gaze shifts down, taking in the tatts dancing down the thick column of his neck and disappearing beneath his shirt. They appear again at his defined arms, snaking all the way down to his fingers. I put half of them there. Hell, Crew let me use his body as practice when I first started, and he’s part of the reason I’m so good at what I do. Without him, I don’t know where I’d be.