Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Tad turned his angry eyes on Tate and started to sputter out a dispute.
“What are you talking about?” Tad hissed, pointing at me. “You’re a fucking cunt liar, and you’re just a big cunt douchebag.”
I wanted to beat my head against the wall.
I was glad that I only suffered through one and only one date with the man. There was no way, with that attitude, that anything would ever have worked out between us.
“I hate the word cunt.”
Tad bared his teeth at me.
“You’ll hear from my lawyer.”
I frowned, but before I could ask him ‘for what?’ he was already gone.
“Well, that was fun,” I muttered, brushing invisible lint off my shirt.
Tate snorted.
“You’re lucky I was here.”
I thought so, too.
“I didn’t think you were, to be honest. I didn’t see your bike.”
He pointed to the tow truck that was sitting beside the building, barely visible but for the back bumper. “Went to get the truck so I can leave for a job after this.”
I bit my lip and nodded, making my way to the front door, and opening it.
I felt his heat at my back, but I didn’t turn. Didn’t do anything.
Didn’t dare.
Not with the way my hormones were practically urging me to do naughty things with the man, and screw anyone or anything that tried to stop me.
“You want me to get those blinds?”
I shook my head and gestured to the door. “No. I don’t want to see him outside if I can help it. Not to mention my father shows up at the worst possible times, ruining our sessions. You can lock that door. We’ll open it after you leave, that way nobody knows that you’re here.”
Tate shrugged and dropped the string he’d been holding to hoist up the blinds.
Then he stalked toward me.
“You want some coffee before we get started?”
My question had him tilting his head.
“No, I had two cups before I got out of the RV this morning,” he answered, taking his regular seat on the leather couch. “Is there anything you want to start with in particular today?”
I bit my lip and looked away, realizing rather quickly that the man was wearing tight blue jeans that hugged his hips—and his package—rather deliciously.
The shirt he had on clung to his chest, and I wasn’t sure that I could make it all the way through this session without involuntarily coming.
Not with the way I wanted him. Not with how he’d saved me earlier. Not with the way he was looking at me—like he wanted to eat me alive.
Shit, shit, shit!
I took a seat and crossed my legs, very much aware of the increase in sensation when I did that.
The clench of my thighs sandwiched my clit between the lips of my sex, and I had to tell myself, multiple times, not to squirm. Although it’d feel good, it was nearly impossible not to know what the hell was going on—what I was doing—on Tate Casey’s end.
This is so inappropriate, I thought morosely.
Tate shifted in his seat, his eyes hot and on me, as he waited for me to begin.
Though, that was just how Tate was. So freakin’ intense that sometimes it was hard to get two words strung together that made any bit of sense.
I uncrossed my legs and crossed them on the other side. His eyes tracked my movements.
“We’re going to start today off a little differently.” I cleared my throat. “If you had to choose one thing to never happen, whether it affected you or the world in general, what would it be?”
He pursed his lips, then casually crossed his arms loosely over his belly. His feet were stretched out in front of him, partially covered by the coffee table that was separating us.
“Anything?”
I nodded. “Anything.”
He tapped his fingers loosely on the opposite hand and lowered his brows in concentration.
“Rape.”
“Not murder?” I asked curiously.
He shook his head. “No. Sometimes murder is a good thing.”
I tilted my head. “How do you figure?”
“Have you ever heard of assisted suicide?” he questioned.
I nodded.
I had. Texas wasn’t one of the states that allowed it, but it was definitely something I’d heard about while going to school, as well as in the news and on Facebook.
“That’s a type of murder,” he explained. “If those patients weren’t able to get help, they’d live a painful life however long they had left to live it.”
I nodded, understanding where he was coming from.
“Any other examples?”
He had me curious.
He laid his arguments out well, and had backup and proof for everything he gave me. It was an amazing thing to have a man that could verbally spar with me.
“Well, say that you were young…a kid,” he said. “Say that you walked in on your sister being raped.”
My stomach clenched.
I knew where he was going with this, and the anger at what Tate had to go through as a young child, and was then expected to live with it, was a harsh reality that I’d never been able to see past.