Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
“Definitely not …”
My lips smash to the side, and I close my eyes, remembering.
The jewelry strained against the rubber jacket he suffocated it in, but it didn’t prevent the chill of the metal from shocking my heated center when he teased me with the tip …
The tip!
I try again
Dick head piercing.
My phone thinks for a second, and then a new image pops up.
My mouth drops open, and as I read the name of the piercing, I realize I knew what this one was, but damn. “Fucking ouch.”
It’s a Prince Albert, a curved barbell, almost like a hook, right through the piss hole.
Why the hell would anyone do that?
I begin reading the description, all the way down to the benefits, and okay. Now I get it.
I scroll back up to the photo examples, zooming in on the thick, proudly erect head of the dick on the screen.
“Good guess, but wrong.”
My phone falls to my chest, dagger between my fingers in a split second, but as my eyes slice to the window, and the familiar shadow looms there, I drop it.
My heart starts pounding, the adrenaline crashes back down and my head falls against the seat.
Jesus, Rocklin, wake the fuck up. You’d be dead already if it were anyone else.
Wait, what?
My muscles lock, the thought ghastly and unwelcome. I don’t even know this guy. He’s no more than a stranger who pops up when he wants and sends creepy texts, making me think he’s watching from god knows where, but he is watching. He wouldn’t know when Damiano’s hands are on me if he wasn’t.
What would he do if I let Dom lay me down and climb on top of me?
Would he watch and whisper angry words later?
Burst in and bust the pretty boy’s lip?
Or would he walk away and never look back?
“What’s the frown for, Rich Girl?”
The humor in his tone snaps me from my thoughts, and I glare straight ahead, but I do unlock the doors, pressing the button for the passenger one to open.
He doesn’t move for a full fifteen seconds, but then annoyingly slow, he curves around the back, my eyes popping up to the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse before pointing forward once more.
What are you doing, Rocklin?
This is everything your father has warned you about.
Maybe that’s exactly why I’m here, for a taste of rebellion. Maybe I’m more like my sister than I care to admit.
Bastian eases into the seat, nothing but the soft swish of his leather jacket heard as he does.
He reaches over and my head snaps his way, hand darting up, nicking the butt of his palm.
He pauses mid-move, raising a brow, and I raise one right back.
“You invited me in here, ’member?” he asks, crystal eyes swimming with mirth.
“I’m still trying to figure out why.”
“It’s ’cause you want me to clear this up for you.”
I frown. “Clear what up?”
His mouth curves now, and I follow the lazy path his eyes make to where he is reaching … for the phone in my lap, face up, angry, purple-ish dick lighting up the screen.
Instantly, horrifyingly, my cheeks heat. Legitimate warmth washes over my neck and face and now I kind of want to stab myself.
I’m blushing, like I have a damn thing to be embarrassed about, like the opinion or thought of the biker boy, minus the bike, at my side matters. If it weren’t dark out here, I might push him out and take off, but it is, so my humiliation is only my own.
Still, Bastian chuckles as he sits back, a low whistle leaving him.
I flick my eyes his way, watching the fascination on his face as his gaze traces every inch his greedy eyes can reach as he licks the itty-bitty blood drop my dagger left on his palm. He takes in the candy-blue leather, following the stark white stripe across to the large screen in the center, his pupils dilating as the rim rolls around it, the color fading into a new one with each full spin. His lips curve higher and higher with each second, and his eyes flick to mine after he spots the shifter.
“A touchscreen twelve-speed?” he confirms.
I nod, my gaze skimming across his features, the cynical harshness nowhere to be seen.
He sits comfortably beside me as if we’re old friends and tonight is like any other Saturday night. As if he doesn’t notice the stark difference between the two of us or how batshit crazy it is we’re two strangers who “met,” and I use that term lightly, under criminal circumstances.
I stole from him.
He broke into my building.
We fucked without exchanging names.
He looks so … calm and casual in his own chaotic and careless way. There are wrinkles in his shirt and a streak of something smudged along his cheek, as if he was carrying something greasy and wiped his hands down his face but didn’t care to look at his reflection after, too busy going about his day.