Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I sucked him until my jaw ached. My movements slowed and he pulled me up. Reaching down, he pulled at my shorts, the button popping off, and then I was also naked. He spun me around until we both faced the dirty mirror.
We both looked like wild animals, our eyes wide, chests heaving. He reached down, digging through his pockets and I put my hand up on the mirror, needing to prove to myself that the naked woman in the dingy bathroom was me, that this was actually happening, that we were about to have sex in a bar bathroom. Something bumped against the outside of the door, and I heard a new song start on the jukebox.
"Bend over," he growled in my ear. I obeyed, leaning against the sink and watching our reflection as he looked down, wrapped his cock in a condom, tested my pussy, and then shoved inside.
I gripped ahold of the sink and tried not to scream, but ohmygod I was addicted.
Chapter 23
We returned to the bar where two warm beers waited at our spots, the bar twice as full as when we left, meaning six bodies now filled the tiny space. He picked up the glass, downed the drink, then pushed the empty glass forward. "Thanks for the beer."
I raised my eyebrows and ignored my own. I checked my phone for any missed calls. None. "Thank you for the beer."
He shook his head. "Naw. I'm pretty sure your drinking and fucking budget is bigger than mine. I'll be outside." He swung by me, shaking a few hands and slapping backs on his way out, his stride relaxed and confident. Apparently, he was well known here. Had he christened the bathroom before? The thought made me sick.
I looked back at the bartender, who gave me an expectant look. "He got a tab?"
"Not one he's paid recently." The man reached for our glasses, raised an eyebrow at my full one, then dumped them both out.
"Figures." I dug in my pocket, came up with a twenty, and placed it on the counter. “So, he comes in a lot?”
He shrugged. “Once a week, sometimes two.”
I glanced around the dingy place and wondered why, of all places, he came here. I nodded toward the cash and swallowed all of the questions I wanted to ask. “Thanks.”
"No problem. Always great to see one of Lee's girls."
I paused, turning around to glare at him. "I'm not one of his girls."
The man snorted back a laugh, shrugging as he plucked up the twenty and stuffed it in his front pocket. "Whatever."
One of Lee's girls. The words screamed through my head as I pushed out the door and walked toward his Jeep. My stomach tightened with anxiety at the sight of him in the driver’s seat, his fingers tapping on the door sill to some rock song that had a bunch of screaming. Rock. Brant liked Andrea Bocelli and I winced as a loud expletive crackled through his speakers. I crawled up into his jeep and quietly suffered the ten-minute car ride back to the convenience store, the wind whipping my hair as his speakers pumped and the vehicle bounced and rocked over the uneven road.
He came to an abrupt stop behind my car, his eyes sweeping over my convertible. It had been a Valentine’s Day gift, one that had put Brant back six figures. "I assume this is you, Lucky."
"It's Layana." I grabbed my purse and unclipped the seatbelt.
He flipped open the ashtray and fished out a business card, the edges worn and bent. "I'm not crazy about that name."
"I'm not crazy about Lee."
"Whatever. Call me if you want another round." He grinned at me and held out the card. Revved his engine as if he was ready for me to get out.
I took the card and stared at its cheap font. He has a business card. The fact was both ridiculous and endearing. I wrote my name, number, and home address on the back of a Burger King receipt that was on the floorboard and passed it to him. Then I got out.
He pulled off without saying goodbye, and the trailer's tires sent a cloud of parking lot dust into my face. I got into my car dirty, my hair wild, my shirt stretched out, my shorts still missing its button.
I pulled over three exits before home and parked in a grocery store lot. Locking my doors, I lowered my forehead to the leather steering wheel and began to cry.
Chapter 24
I stripped as soon as I entered my bedroom, needing the shower but reluctant to wash off his scent. I smelled like Lee. Oil and grass and dirt and sex. It was out of place in my world, in my bedroom, in my life. So different from Brant, so outside our box. I liked the different. I wanted more of it. More than I could get from Brant, more sides, more than the man who put me on a pedestal and engaged me intellectually and proposed to me in the moonlight.