Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Teacups, mugs, and platters tended to be my bestsellers. So I focused on those most of the time when I worked.
It wasn’t a teacup or mug or platter I found myself working on, though, as I got some clay and my tools together, sitting down at the low table with my legs crossed under me.
It was many hours later, the owls taking to their nests with their occasional, soothing coos getting replaced by the chipper songs of the early morning birds that I finally seemed to snap out of my trance, finding my legs so numb that I had to use my arms to shift them out of their crossed position.
As the pins and needles assaulted me from the waist down, my gaze slid back to my work desk.
And there they were.
Over a dozen little crows.
“Fuck,” I hissed to myself, shaking my head, pissed that he’d managed to invade my subconscious, that he was now a part of the thing I used to escape the world and my own thoughts.
My first instinct was to grab them all and smush them back together. Or, if they were too dry, to break them and crush them to dust.
But art supplies were as precious as the money I’d used to purchase them with.
I couldn’t in good conscience destroy something that could be sold.
Fifteen.
Fifteen little crows.
Seven pairs of earrings, perhaps?
I could make each set different in color.
With just one leftover for a necklace or keychain.
My followers would be happy to have a new collection.
And then I could get the cursed things out of my house without losing money because of them.
Decision made, I spent the next hour or so painting the little earrings, then setting them to dry beside the mugs and cups that needed to get fired the next time I headed toward the pottery studio.
I would take pictures and post about it after I got some sleep.
After washing off the remaining clay, I dropped down into my bed still fully dressed, too exhausted to change or even uncover my windows.
When I woke up sometime early that afternoon and went to take my pictures, I found myself one crow short of the fifteen I could have sworn I’d made and painted.
But I’d been practically delirious with lack of sleep.
I’d probably been mistaken, I assured myself as I went to make a cup of tea.
Only, of course, I hadn’t been mistaken.
And I hadn’t been alone that night or morning.
I just hadn’t known it at the time.
CHAPTER NINE
Crow
“Sorry,” I said as the guys and a couple of random chicks piled into the SUV after I’d driven off from Morgaine’s place.
Slash shook his head at me, brushing it off.
“No worries. We had to wait for Monica here to find her phone,” Sway said as he yanked the woman in question onto his lap. “Didn’t we?” he asked before his lips slammed down on hers.
Beside him, Detroit mumbled something about getting a room.
I was just pulling away from the curb when a flash of something yellow caught my peripheral, making me look over at Slash who’d found Morgaine’s blonde wig, and was holding it in his hand with a raised brow and a knowing smirk toying with his lips.
“It’s not like that,” I insisted. Even if, objectively, it had been exactly that when his call had come in.
The goddamn call.
They had the worst possible timing in the fucking world.
Because if that call hadn’t come in, I knew my cock would buried deep in Morgaine’s tight pussy right that moment, letting her ride me through the first orgasm before grabbing her and getting out of the car, slamming her back against it, and fucking her harder, faster, until the entire goddamn world fell away.
Until the roaring of the monsters inside finally silenced as I came with her hot pussy squeezing my orgasm out of me.
“Sure it’s not,” Slash said in that low, gravel voice of his.
It was a short fucking ride back to the clubhouse, but judging by the sounds coming from the backseat, Sway couldn’t keep his hands to himself even for five minutes as Monica’s little whimpers got more and more obvious by each passing second.
Sway had never been shy about his sexcapades. There was more than a few times I’d walked in on him fucking someone in the main area of the house, completely unconcerned about being seen… or who might be passed out in that same room only a few feet away.
“You’re gonna have to get the fucking thing detailed,” Detroit said as we climbed out of the SUV at the clubhouse, leaving Sway and Monica in the backseat, going at it hot and heavy by the sounds she was making that we could hear even through the closed doors.
“We need a new prospect to do the dirty work,” I said as we moved inside.