Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“Really?” She pushes against my chest.
She’ll have to push a lot harder to move me. “What do you want?” I ask. “You want me in the chair? You want a repeat?”
“Sort of.”
I strip off my T-shirt and settle all the way into the chair. “Come show me.”
She pulls a condom out of her pocket and slaps it on the side table.
“Ooo, look at you all prepared,” I tease.
She presses one knee into the chair and slowly lowers herself until she’s straddling my thighs.
“Come closer.” I cup her butt and slide her right up against me.
“Oh,” she gasps and rolls her hips. “You’re already…you’re so…”
“Hard for you,” I supply the words. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
She laughs, then gasps again.
“You like that?” I whisper, holding her gaze.
“I do.”
“Keep going. See if you can make yourself come grinding in my lap.” I sneak my hands under her sweatshirt and tug it up. “First, while this is cute, it needs to go.”
“Okay.” She keeps rolling her hips while I struggle with the sweatshirt.
“Ah, fuck. This is sexy.” I slide my finger under one strap of her sheer black bra.
“Jigsaw, I’m…” A little V forms between her eyebrows, and she lets out a frustrated grunt.
“Give it a minute, woman. I know my cock is magic but still.”
She laughs, rocking herself against me a little too hard.
I hiss in a pained breath. “Not enough room in my pants for what you’re doing to me.”
“I’m sorry!” she yelps and slides back a few inches.
“It’s fine.” I dig my feet into the cushions and lift my hips. “Undo my jeans and take me out of my denim prison, please.”
“Those sexy black track pants should be mandatory when you’re with me,” she grumbles, attacking the button but carefully lowering the zipper. “Much easier access.”
My phone—firmly lodged somewhere inside my pocket—starts vibrating against my leg.
Who’s bothering me now? “Fuuuck,” I groan.
I have to slide down more and wedge my hand inside until my fingers finally find the edge of my phone, then drag it out.
The buzzing stops.
Missed call: Zero
I stare at the screen. Call my president back or give my girl her orgasms first? Maybe sneak one in for myself.
I set the phone on the side table. “Where were we?”
“Who was it?”
“Z.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Shouldn’t you call your president back?”
“You want your orgasm or not?”
Instead of answering with words, she reaches into my briefs and brushes her thumb against the head of my cock.
“Fuuuck, yes,” I groan. “He’ll call back or text if he needs me that bad.”
“I need you bad,” she says, curling her fingers around me.
“Yes, you do.”
My phone rattles against the table.
“Godfuckingdammit.” I pick it up.
Z: call me now.
“Why is he being such a cockblocker?” I whine.
Margot giggles.
“You think that’s funny, huh?” I shove my hand down her pants and encounter nothing but skin. “No underwear, dirty girl?”
She lets out a sharp breath of surprise as I drag my fingers through her wetness.
“Not laughing now, are you?” I stop and roll one finger around her clit.
“No,” she gasps and rocks her hips against my hand.
“Good girl. Keep doing that while I call him back.”
“What? No. I can’t do that.” Her mouth protests but her body keeps moving.
“Yes, you can.” One-handed, I hit Z’s number.
“Jigsaw,” Z answers in a tight voice.
Maybe it’s because all the blood from my brain has relocated to my cock, but I steamroll over the warning in his tone. “This isn’t the best time. What’d you need?”
“Where you at?”
This time, his tone penetrates through my lustful fog.
“Margot’s. Why?” Shit, is the clubhouse getting raided by the cops again? I slip my hand out of Margot’s pants and motion for her to hang on.
Pressing her hands on the arms of the chair, she carefully extracts herself from my lap.
“I need you to come down to Crystal Ball,” Z says.
There is no way I’m leaving my girlfriend unsatisfied so I can go babysit a bunch of strippers tonight. Absolutely the fuck not. “Crystal Ball? Why?”
Z hesitates. Just for a second. But it’s enough.
Something is seriously fucked.
“Because I’ve got a kid here who came in asking for you.”
Kid? Lead settles in my gut. Don’t like the sound of that. As a late bloomer with the ladies, I haven’t been fucking long enough to have a son old enough to walk into Crystal Ball without a fake id. “What kid? Who?”
Z’s exhale is heavy, like he’s bracing for my reaction. “Says his name is Cain Killgore. And he’s your brother.”