Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
I could have her. I could have my sister. Not only would she not deny me, she’s fucking desperate for it.
CHAPTER 5
Mina
I have no idea where I am, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
He’s a God.
Like, a literal God I think. The most talented artist from any century could not have created a vision so perfect. The heat between my legs will not quit. I wanted to climb onto his lap in the car and dry hump him all the way home.
He’s got an iron will though. He settled my horny little—well, not so little—ass into the seat and buckled me in with a stern stare as blood jack hammered down into my lower level making the desperate tension that much worse.
He fills the front doorway, coming inside from the car carrying the plastic bag with my wet clothes from the hospital, looking as though he just stepped off the cover of GQ.
His suit is cream colored, with an open-collared white shirt, brown leather loafers and there’s a presence in the front of his slacks that deserves to be worshiped as well.
“I’ll be right back. There’s a delivery driver pulling in. Ordered a few more things for you. Sit tight, baby.” He tosses me a wink and I’m humming inside. My core clenches like a spring wound too tight and I whisper the word that’s driving me to the edge of dark bliss…
“Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.”
Jack returns, hands full of more shopping bags in a rainbow of colors, tissue paper sticking out of some, boxes stacked in others and I pinch the soft flesh on the inside of my left forearm until I yelp, making sure I’m not dreaming.
I hiss on a wince and his eyes dart my way.
“Baby? You feel okay?” He drops the bags like they are on fire, lunging to kneel in front of me as I sit on the fluffy white sofa where he told me to stay after I finished my vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles.
“I’m fine. Just a little…confused.” I decide to be honest. When you don’t have any memories, it doesn’t make much sense to lie about the things you do know.
“I know, baby. It will get better, but all you need to know right now is you are mine and I take care of what’s mine.” He brushes the backs of his fingers over my forehead, his silvery-gray eyes narrowing like he’s checking me for a fever. When he’s satisfied I’m okay, he stands, nostrils flaring, the tent on the front of his pants only slightly smaller than earlier but the tension in his face is the same.
He looks like he’s carved from sex and all things sinful and wonderful. And, my God, he smells so good.
The scent is familiar, as it should be I suppose. The doctor said olfactory senses are some of the strongest and could elicit strong emotions even if I can’t connect them to a memory.
I should be crazy anxious with this amnesia situation but somehow, I’m confused yes, but I’m also relaxed and centered. Maybe I was always this way, but some niggling doubt tells me that maybe not.
Anyway, I’m gonna live in the now as they say, because I’ve got the hottest frickin’ football player of a boyfriend and my womb is fricking throbbing for him.
Here’s the other thing that’s niggling at me. How is he with me? I may not remember who I am, but I have eyes. I’m more cherub than centerfold. I mean, I’m cute. In fact, very cute, but I’ve clearly not missed many meals and don’t belong with a perfect specimen like Jack.
Jack. Jack.
His name makes me quiver. It’s like there’s a fire inside me that’s engulfing me but all I want to do is throw more tinder onto the flames.
I choke back a gasp as Jack spins, grabbing the bags and setting them on my lap all at once, covering me.
“Daddy.” I laugh but feel the heat and wetness seep from my body at the sound of that word. The response from the first moment he said it has been the same.
It hits me down low, tumbling around in my center before rising up and gripping around my heart like a velvet fist.
He strips off his suit jacket, laying it across the back of the sofa. Then he rolls up his sleeves as I peek over the bags, then back to his face, watching his tongue trace along his lower lip, that flexing in his jaw making me a little nervous.
He finishes with his sleeves and it occurs to me, that there are few things sexier than a man rolling up his sleeves. Especially with forearms like Jack’s. I’m mesmerized as I stare at the corded muscles under his tan skin shifting and moving.
“Open them.” He nods, coming to sit next to me, as I blow out a breath, fighting the urge to climb him like a tree. He moves a few of the bags to the floor to make room for his enormous self and proceeds to take the most sincere joy in watching me open every parcel.