Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
It’s the way she’s standing, her arms crossed over her middle as though to protect herself from my predator’s hand. Her forearms push against her breasts so that they bulge upward, igniting that deep hunger inside of me.
Her hair is all wavy down her back, her shirt pale and wide at the neck, showing just a little skin. But enough to get my mind whirring.
“Where are we going?” she murmurs.
“I’m taking you home. I don’t want you riding the bus. So get in.”
I climb into the car and take my seat, squeezing my hands down on the steering wheel as I warn myself to stay calm here, to not let my deranged thoughts fly out of my lips before I’ve had the chance to decide I want to tell her.
But what am I doing?
There’s no plan here. I’m just following the feeling in my chest – the warm nostalgia shivering through my mind.
I’m nostalgic for things that haven’t even happened with Bria yet, for the first time she holds our child, and the tears glimmering in her eyes as she approaches me at the altar.
It should be impossible…
No, fuck that word, fuck that word.
It doesn’t matter what it should be. It matters what is, and there’s no doubt about these feelings taking possession of me.
But I can’t let them rule me. I have to be in control.
I almost laugh at the notion as Bria nervously walks around to the passenger side and climbs in. She lets out a short cute-as-fuck breath as she sits down, interlocking her hands in her lap after putting her handbag in the footwell.
Control?
Yeah, right.
My gaze rests on her handbag for a few moments, at the scuff marks on it, how worn the strap is.
For a crazy moment, I want to take out my wallet and give her every goddamn penny I have. Because it’s hers already, half hers… I own her, and she owns me.
I’m claiming her and she’s claiming me.
It’s a man’s duty to make sure his woman never wants for anything, a man’s duty to provide for his family.
I squeeze the steering wheel harder, taking in the sight of her thick tempting legs in her tight black pants.
Fuck.
To bite down on those thighs, sink my teeth in and listen to the way it makes her whimper. I’d play her like an instrument, biting harder, kissing and nibbling to make her moan. I could spend an hour or more on every single part of her.
I start the engine and turn on to the road.
“Where do you live?” I ask, as I join the traffic and head toward the freeway.
She gives me the address and I punch it in. I open my mouth to tell her she doesn’t have to live in that low income neighborhood. She can have a whole damn palace if she wants, anything she wants for the rest of her life.
But if I cross that line, I can’t trust anything she—
Bria. Is. Not. Like. That.
Instead, I focus on the road, staring straight ahead, my hands way too tight on the steering wheel.
I watch her out of my peripheral vision, sneaking glances at me. Her young eyes are full of light and need.
“Are we going to talk about the last time we saw each other?” I snarl.
There – it’s out there.
Even if I didn’t plan on blurting it out like that, even if there are pieces of me roaring to shut up and just drive.
If we talk about last time, I won’t be able to keep the thought of her whimpering creaming body from taking complete control of me.
She lets out a whimper.
Does she know what those little noises do to me?
She can’t, otherwise, she’d know better than to let them out of those kissable fuck-me lips so often.
“I don’t know,” she whispers.
I laugh gruffly, hopefully hiding how full of frustrated emotions I am. “You don’t know why you ran away like that? Is it because we were in the restrooms?”
“Well, that’s not exactly, you know, the place I want to do something like that.”
“Then why were you whimpering and creaming like a horny girl?” I snap.
She flinches at the sharpness in my voice, a blush spreading down her neck. That blush… it’s like a track leading to the places I need to massage and caress and please as she begs me for more and more.
“Because it felt so good,” she whispers.
“Louder,” I command.
She whimpers again, nodding. “It felt good, okay? But that doesn’t mean I want to have sex in the restroom when anybody could just walk in. That’s not really the situation I imagined…”
“Imagined what?” I snarl as we join the ramp for the highway.
My voice is loud and I warn myself to rein myself back a little bit, to stop so much ferocious compulsion from brimming up inside me. Maybe she’ll be able to sense the real source of my rage, and then…