Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
He reaches out, taking my chin with a curved pointer finger and tipping my head back. “She ain’t my girlfriend. I fuck who I want.”
“I think you should tell her that.”
“She knows.”
“Well, either way,” I say, stepping back so he is forced to drop his hand. “Can you keep it down?”
“I’m startin’ to think you’re more interested in my dick than she is.”
Here we go.
“In your dreams, my friend. If I want dick, I’ll get it, I don’t need to chase after a biker to do it.”
He runs a hand down his sweat slicked belly, and it takes everything inside me not to stare down as his dick. He has no shame, none at all. He’s standing here, in the open door, not a care in the world about who can see him naked.
“If I offered it, you’d take it.”
The arrogance.
I snort. “Believe me, I wouldn’t.”
He steps closer, hooking an arm around my waist and hauling me against him. His cock presses into my belly, and I gasp, the words sucked right out of my mouth when he looks down at me, his hard, sweat slicked body molding against mine. “We’ll see. I can guarantee that if I wanted you, you would lay down for me and spread those pretty legs, begging me to take you.”
“God you’re full of yourself. I wouldn’t even if you paid me.”
He licks his bottom lip, grinning. “Challenge accepted.”
“I thought you said you’d never touch me, even if I wanted it.”
“I don’t have to touch you to get you to beg for me.”
With that, he releases me.
“Goodnight, Kitten.”
Argh.
This infuriating man.
He’s getting under my skin, no matter how hard I am trying to keep him out.
“Keep it down!” I call after him, as he takes hold of the door.
He flips me the bird, and my eyes can’t help but zone in on that perfect, muscled ass.
Dammit.
“Sweet dreams to you, too,” I mutter, turning away when the door closes.
I can’t deny the ache in my body, mostly between my legs.
Tomorrow, I decide, is the day I’m going to ease this ache. I’m going to find someone, maybe one of these gorgeous bikers, and I’m going to deal with this problem. Then, just maybe, I can focus on the task at hand instead of thinking about the arrogant, gorgeous, stubborn, pain in my ass next door.
Yeah, I’ll do that.
It’s not slutty, right?
FINALLY MANAGING TO sleep, I stay in that room until around ten the next morning. By the time I wake, the sun is well and truly blasting through the window, and my body aches as I push out of bed, really not wanting to get up but knowing I have no choice if I want to finish what I started here.
Groaning, I mutter a curse as I take a towel and groggily gather some clothes for the day. I’m not looking forward to borrowing a shower, but I can’t go another day without one. Zane told me there is one in the main bar area, and that if I lock the door, I should be okay. I’m going to risk it.
Walking out of the room, the sun burns my eyes as I shield them, rushing toward the main living portion. Stepping inside, I come to a stop when I see everyone gathered around the large communal television. I’m not certain what they’re watching, so I move a bit closer, noticing Wolfe standing to my left, his arms crossed.
His eyes swing to me and widen slightly, but I’m too focused on the words coming from the screen before me. Someone moves enough for me to see what’s on the screen, and when I do, I flinch. It’s a harsh jerk of my body as the world around me seems to stop spinning.
My father is on the screen, chained up, wearing a green prison jumpsuit, three officers behind him as a woman speaks to him. She’s a reporter, clearly, and somehow, she has managed to get a prisoner on television. That isn’t what shocks me, though, it’s the fact that I have done everything in my power not to lay eyes on my father since that fateful night.
This is the first time I have seen him since then, and it feels like acid running through my veins.
Gone is the strong, well-built man that I once knew. In his place, is this gaunt, drawn-out person I almost don’t recognize. The dull blue eyes and the dark red hair stand out against his pale skin. His eyes are empty, and as he stares at the reporter, I would almost say it was a stranger before me.
I don’t know that man.
My chest tightens, and I struggle to breathe as I stare, transfixed.
“Mr. Sloane, everyone is talking about a copycat killer, or someone wanting revenge on your daughter, do you have anything to say about that?”