Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
She cocks her head to the side, eyeing me. "Is that how you get suspects to talk? You just give them that 'me man, me in charge' look and demand they talk?"
"Me man, me in charge?"
"Sums it up," she says, shrugging.
"We both know the one in charge here is you, princess," I say. It's more or less true. She holds all the cards. I'm just waiting for her to agree to let me worship at her feet. And I'm willing to do whatever desperate, shameless shit I have to do until she agrees. I don't need to beat my chest and roar like I'm in the goddamn jungle. If she wants to drive this motherfucker, she can drive it.
Once she's ready to stop running, then it's my turn to take charge. I know how the shit works. Women have to trust that you're someone they want to follow. If you can't show them that, you aren't a motherfucker worth their time. And I fully intend to be one she finds worthy of her. If we need to go at her pace until then, we go at her pace. If she has to torture me a little first, bring it the fuck on.
"And for the record," I say, smirking at her. "Suspects talk to me because I'm a patient, understanding motherfucker. You don't have to be a dick to get people to talk. Sometimes, you just have to be willing to listen."
She nods, a thoughtful expression on her face.
"There's nothing wrong with my body," she sighs after a minute. "Everyone else just seems to disagree with me on that front."
"Who is everyone else?" I growl.
"Aside from the cheerleading coach? Half my graduating class. The FBI. My dad. Take your pick."
"Fuck all of them," I snarl, hauling her chair closer to mine, my heart pounding like a drum. Seriously, fuck every asshole who ever made her feel like there's something wrong with her. "The only thing wrong with your body is the fact that it isn't all over me right this goddamn second, Molly. You're fucking gorgeous."
A blush creeps across her cheeks, painting them the sweetest pink. "Thank you," she whispers.
"Don't thank me for telling you the truth. There isn't a damn thing wrong with you." I run my hands up her outer thighs, groaning at how they quiver under my palms even through her jeans. "This body is worthy of worship."
"Wish the FBI felt the same way," she mutters.
"You want to join the FBI?"
She shrugs, avoiding my gaze. "I want to be analyst."
"I can help with that, you know."
"I don't want to get in because someone pulled strings, Easton. I want to get in because I deserved it," she whispers.
"What's stopping you?"
She narrows her eyes at me. "Uh, did you hear nothing I just said?"
"I heard you, but you're making my point for me," I say, a smile tugging at my lips. "If the only thing keeping you out is some fucking bullshit about your size, fuck that. Sometimes, you have to go around obstacles instead of through them. If some recruiter is a roadblock in your path, find a different way." I inch my hands higher up her thighs, wishing like hell I could pull her onto my lap and just fucking hold her. Or grind her against my cock until she shatters to pieces in my arms. But I'm guessing either of those will have her kicking my ass out of here, so best not to risk it. "I know a different way. Use me, princess. Let me help you."
She chews on her bottom lip, staring at me. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would you help me?" Guilt flickers in her expression. "I've basically tortured you for the last month straight."
"Foreplay, baby. That's foreplay." I grin, running one hand up the center of her body to capture her chin. She doesn't stop me. Doesn't tell me no. Little by little, she's thawing toward me, letting me in. Every little step feels like I'm winning the fucking lottery. "Torture me however you want. I fully intend to repay you for every bit of it once you're in my bed."
"I'm not sleeping with you, Easton." She scowls at me. "And if that's the price of you helping me, no thanks."
"I'm not helping you so you'll sleep with me, princess. I'm helping you because I actually happen to think you'll be a hell of an FBI analyst." I touch my thumb to her bottom lip. "And when you sleep with me—when, Molly, not if—it'll be because you can't stand the thought of not being in my bed."
"You are…" She cracks, smiling despite herself. "You're insane, you know that, right?"
"Nah, I just know what I want. I'm looking at her." I lean forward, brushing my lips against hers. "And she may not want to admit it, but I damn well know she wants me too."