Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
It's a song just for her, just for us—and she weeps happy tears as she dances to it, still clad in only my shirt, which falls to her knees, and a pair of sneakers. She leaps onto benches and pirouettes like a ballerina, her dark hair loose and wild. There is no one like her. She’s a treasure. My treasure. I’ll never, ever, ever let her go.
As the song begins to wind down, she collects a few dollar bills from an elderly couple and I roll my eyes at her, but continue to play, my gaze drawn to the flashes of bare thighs, her pretty tits bobbing beneath the shirt. She drops one of the dollar bills and is forced to bend over to pick it up, reminding me she’s out of panties. Wearing none, because I refuse to let her go home and haven’t been able to stop touching her, talking to her, staring at her, bathing and feeding her long enough to go shopping.
Christ, I can’t keep her in my clothes with no underwear indefinitely.
I’ll remedy her lack of clothing first thing tomorrow.
Probably.
For now, she has this hard cock to deal with.
The song ends on a scrubby, off-key note to symbolize my blood rushing south…and she stops pirouetting, her hair settling around her shoulders, hazel eyes wide with awareness. Dawning heat. She recognizes the sentiment behind the ending and she wants to fuck, too.
I use my bow string to point at the parking lot. “March,” I growl.
But instead of following my order, she gives me an impish smile and dances farther into the train station. I don’t even hesitate a split second before following her, the beast beginning to snarl inside of me because it wants to possess Meg immediately and she’s playing games. A significant part of me loves this lighthearted side of her, but my cock is a different story. It’s swollen and irritable, because it has only experienced the tight clutch of her pussy one time.
Oh, she’s going to get what’s coming to her.
“Meg,” I rasp in warning.
All I hear is a giggle and my heart rate picks up even more, my leather belt biting into the growing curve of my shaft, my mouth salivating at the anticipated taste of her neck when I bite onto it like a fucking apple. Conflict wars inside of me—the beast who wants to rut and claw its sexual frustration into her. And the man in love who wants to feel her orgasm build, build, build, hear the sweet music of her whimper when she wets me.
A flash of white disappears around the corner and I put my head down and start to run, experience allowing me to speed up behind her without making a single sound. She doesn’t see me coming. One second, she’s laughing and disappearing farther and farther into the deserted station and the next, I’m yanking her back against my chest with a crooked elbow around her throat.
“I don’t advise running from me, Meg,” I say very carefully, against her temple, kissing it to soften the danger in my tone. “Ever.”
“I’m just playing around.” Her butt squirms in my lap. “I wanted you to catch me.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Red stains her cheeks. “You said you were going to be an animal this time.” Her head falls back against my shoulder, her half-mast eyes perusing me. “Animals don’t wait until they’re home in a bed, do they?”
I’m torched by lust. Filthy, nasty lust.
Hers matches mine, too. That’s what has me extra keyed up.
“You want to fuck right here, right now, little girl?”
“Yes,” she sobs when I squeeze her slim throat.
I scan our surroundings for a dark spot and find one several yards to the right, a shadowy section of the station where two brick walls intersect to make a private corner for what I’m about to do to her. The half of me that wants to treat her delicately rebels, but I remember she asked for it. Animals don’t wait until they’re home in bed, do they?
She tempts a demon.
“This time, you better march,” I say quietly, inducing a shiver in her. She moves in the direction of the shadows, her youthful Converse making progress on the pavement and when the darkness swallows us, it swallows me, too. I unhook my elbow from around her throat and set down my violin, along with the bow. “Put your hands on the wall,” I instruct, rising to my full height once more and unfastening my belt.
Watching her pale fingers spread on the brick, hearing the distant sound of conversation, wind, a train whistle. The button of my jeans being undone. Her swallow.
“Take off the shirt.”
Her wide eyes peer back at me over her shoulder. “Off?”
I don’t bother repeating myself, I simply take two strides forward and strip the shirt over her head, leaving her completely naked in the train station, save the sneakers on her feet. “Animals don’t wear shirts, either, right?”