Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
These guys are just awful.
All their sales happen in plain sight too. There are three of them: two guards and a salesman. If any cops are watching, they’re gathering enough evidence to put these idiots behind bars forever. Money passing hands, product right there in the guy’s goddamn pocket.
It’s honestly shameful.
And worse, those are my drugs they’re profiting on.
Fucking bastards. I switch to the camera in the hallway outside her door. There’s no motion at all. One of the guards is standing nearby, swiping at his phone. I’m about to call him and tell him he can either stay alert or I’ll cut his throat when I get a message.
Dasha: I’ve been thinking about the camera thing some more.
My heart rate increases with surprise. Why the hell am I reacting like some petty little schoolboy or some shit?
Tigran: And what are you thinking?
Dasha: Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you could see more of me.
Dasha: Please don’t say anything, okay? I’m taking a risk here…
I tilt my head, not sure what she’s talking about, but a video call request comes through a second later. When I accept, the image shows her bathroom, the camera pointing right at her shower.
“Can you hear me?” she asks, her voice echoing off the tile.
“I can hear you, pisik. But even I wasn’t going to put anything in your bathroom.” Not that I didn’t want to…
“No more talking now, please.” She clears her throat, and her voice is trembling slightly. “I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate the way you’ve treated me. And I thought, since you like watching, you might like this.”
Then she steps into frame.
My wife is wearing only a towel. Her hair’s pulled up. I stare at her long neck and the graceful lines of her body as she walks to the shower and turns it on.
Holy fuck.
I sit up straight and nearly slam my knee into the goddamn horn.
She glances back at the camera, and it’s the most beautiful look I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s clearly mortified and awkward, but she’s also determined.
Like even though this is well outside her comfort zone, she wants to do it anyway.
I’m rock hard the second her towel drops.
Dasha has such a beautiful body. She’s a small girl, but she’s got a gorgeous figure. Smallish breasts that fit in my palms, a perky little ass ripe for smacking, and that long blonde hair. Her legs are lean and firm, and I go fucking wild for the long curve of her back.
She’s everything I could want.
Fuck the stakeout. I can’t look away from my phone as my wife steps into the shower. She lets the water spray over her body, totally visible through the tall glass walls, and then she looks right over at me.
Face crimson as her hand teases over one breast and moves down between her legs.
Oh, fuck me.
She touches herself. Tentatively and slowly at first, like she doesn’t know what she’s doing. My heart’s racing and my cock is raging hard. I’m transfixed, unable to look away, as she strokes her fingers up and down her slit, her back pressed against the wall, the water spraying in front of her.
Droplets fall down her pale skin like crystals. I want to lick them off. I want to drop to my knees and devour her pussy like a sacrament.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. Not only because a beautiful woman is touching herself for me—my beautiful woman—but because I know how hard this must be for her.
Dasha’s shy. She doesn’t have confidence like this. And yet there she is, breasts heaving as her breathing picks up, looking like sex and bliss and everything I’ve ever needed.
God damn it. Why the fuck am I here right now? Watching some street-level shitheads?
I could be back at home with my wife, fucking a baby into her belly.
“Tigran,” she whimpers, stroking herself faster, body trembling.
That fucking does it.
“I’m coming home,” I roar, unable to help myself.
She looks surprised, like she forgot I was there. “You’re coming to me?” she asks, mouth hanging open.
Still touching herself.
“Don’t you fucking move,” I snarl at my phone. “Do you hear me? I’ll be home soon.”
I toss my phone onto the seat next to me and kick open my door. Fuck, my dick’s hard, and I have to adjust it as I storm across the street and down the block to where those Irish cocksuckers are working.
One of the guards perks up as I approach. He’s got a deep scowl and an ugly crooked nose. The fucking dick’s barely on his feet when I draw my gun and shoot him in the face.
His skull blasts out the back of his head, and he crumples.
The other guard fumbles at his jacket, cursing as he staggers backward. I put two in his chest. He falls in a spray of blood and makes these weak mewling noises as he squirms on the sidewalk before going still.