Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
“Want a drink?” I shout close to her ear. It's a struggle, pretending the floral perfume she wears doesn't make hunger pool in my gut, hot and needy. Get it together. This is a job. Callum would castrate you.
She nods and turns toward the bar, weaving her way through the crowd like she was born to do it. She's much more practiced at this than I am, obviously, but it does impress me that she seems to be handling her surroundings well. She's in control, I realize. She's not at the mercy of groping hands... yet. Judging from some of the grinding on the dance floor, it can only be a matter of time.
It's strange, the things that go through a person's mind at the oddest times. I can see my mother's face in front of me and almost hear her voice—disappointed but patient. “One day, you'll understand when you have kids of your own. It feels like watching them make mistakes and knowing there's nothing you can do to stop them. Some things you have to figure out on your own.”
And that's what this is tonight. She has to figure it out on her own. She has to go out in the world and see what she can handle. When I look at it that way, I can almost admire her bravery—though I'd rather cut out my own tongue with a hot knife than admit it. She would never let me live it down.
She asks for a vodka tonic, and I order one along with a soda for me. “You're not going to at least have one drink?”
“I don't drink, really.”
“Why not?”
“I thought we weren't supposed to know each other.”
Even in the dim light, there's no missing the way she rolls her eyes. “I'm trying to make conversation, you douche. Could you lighten up for once?”
“One of us has to keep a clear head.”
“God forbid you not be superior just once!” She shakes her head, turning her back on the bar to scan the dance floor. I stay still, watching her from the corner of my eye. I don't want her to know I'm watching, since that would make her self-conscious.
She's worried. Her brow is furrowed, and her teeth are sunk so deep into her bottom lip it won’t be long before she draws blood. “Here,” I shout, thrusting the drink her way.
“Thanks.” She wastes no time emptying the glass before giving me a defiant look that I choose to ignore. For all I know, she wants to start a fight, so we'll go home. I won't let her do that. She wants to push her limits? She can be my guest.
“Go ahead,” I urge, nodding toward the dance floor with its blue and purple lights swinging in all directions from overhead. “Have fun. I'm not stopping you.”
“Fine. I will.” She is every inch an empress looking over her court as she strides away from the bar before getting caught up in the crowd, expertly working her way to the dance floor without getting caught up in the flow of moving bodies.
Fuck me. I didn't consider this. What it would mean to watch her dance. She's not far from where I'm standing near the railing, but she doesn't so much as glance my way before she swings her hips to the pounding rhythm. Her eyes close, and after a few minutes, she loosens up and her movements start to flow. She's not thinking about what she's doing now. She's in her body, letting the music guide her. There's no self-consciousness, no worries.
With my free hand, I grip the brass rail until my knuckles ache. How easy would it be to meet her down there, to step up from behind and take her by the hips. To pull her close so she could grind against my dick, so I could bury my face in her neck and inhale her. The smell would intensify the hotter she gets, and soon it would mix with sweat that would bead at her hairline and roll down her neck.
I truly need to get laid. But I'm not sure even that would help at this point, considering it's more than just physical shit with her. I want to break her down. I want her on her knees, begging for me. For my touch, my kiss, my cock.
But I'm here, and she's there, and that's the way it's supposed to be. That's the way it has to be if I want to walk out of this with my life.
It's no surprise when she finally catches the attention of a tall, blonde guy in a tight T-shirt. He's on the other side of the floor, but I catch him watching her, following her every movement with eyes that bring the word hunter to mind. He has spotted his prey, and now he begins crossing the floor, turning sideways to work his way between writhing bodies. I don't know what's louder: the music or my heart pounding. I have to restrain myself rather than go out there and get in his way. This is how she wants it? This is how it has to be.