Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Billy gave everyone a ride that even glanced in his direction. He told me once he couldn't control it. He explained that to me the one time I visited him in jail, requesting his signature on the divorce papers. In the end, he told me that in prison he could stay faithful. The ignorant man didn't see the problem with steel bars being a requirement for him to stay true to his wedding vows.
I pull in a deep breath and release it, sending with it any and all thoughts of my ex.
Instead of listening to the whisper in my head that is telling me I could very easily end up alone, walking back to my car on this isolated road if Owen once again changes his mind, I work to unzip his jeans, taking it as a good sign when he leans back, giving me a little better access to it.
His groan rumbles through his chest, and I can feel it through our connection at his back when he falls into my hand. He doesn't hiss and pull away despite the temperature differences in our skin.
I feel more than a small hint of disappointment when he climbs off the bike, breaking our connection, but in the next breath, he's pulling me from it as well, his eyes locked on mine as his forefinger and thumb clamp onto my chin. The pressure is rougher than a lover's touch, but the aggression behind the slight tremble in his fingers turns me on, probably more than it should.
I don't know this man. He could be just as dangerous as I've imagined he could be, but would a man who wishes me ill will sit and stare at me in front of witnesses several times? Would he let people see his face to the point he could easily be identified by people in the bar and still have intentions of hurting me?
"Are you going to hurt me?" I whisper, knowing he could easily lie to me in order to make me feel more at ease.
"Probably," he whispers, his voice still as gruff as it was the first time he came into the bar and ordered a beer.
I dip my head in understanding, but I think there's a very good chance he's reading more into this than he needs to be. I didn't plan to make that filthy confession the other day, but nothing has changed for me. I don't need my life to revolve around another man. I spent over ten years in an unhealthy marriage because I thought love and affection were all I needed in life.
Good sex with no expectations seems like a better bet.
With his fingers still clamping my face, he leans in closer, but the kiss I expect never comes. Instead, warmth from his breath curls around my neck.
"You want me to fuck you."
It isn't a question, but I can feel his need for confirmation in the way his body trembles, as if he's fighting taking me exactly the way he wants without caring what my thoughts are on this entire situation. I know if he lets that part take over, he'll use me up, leaving me nothing but a whimpering mess. But I also know, by the way my body is begging me for exactly what he has to offer, that I'll be left more satisfied than I ever have been before.
"Yes," I whisper, pulling my head back so I can look right into those complicated eyes of his.
I reach down, wrapping my hands around his thick cock as it juts outward, as if begging for some relief.
He doesn't let me dip my head to watch as I touch him, his hold insisting that our eyes meet.
It feels too personal, too intimate, the way we stare at each other. The only control I have is to close my eyes, but his stare is too intense to break the hold he has on me.
A warning echoes in my head, but taking a step back is the very last thing I can manage right now. I'm completely at his mercy, and when that dimple in his cheek deepens, I know he knows it too.
"How wet is your cunt?" he growls, his lip twitching as if he can sense the answer.
I shake my head. "I don't know."
"Liar," he spits. "I'd bet my bike you're soaked. You like danger, don't you, Zara?"
My name sounds more like a curse on his tongue than an acknowledgment of who he's actually speaking to, and for some reason, that does it for me as well.
"What would you do if I told you to suck my cock?"
I swallow before speaking, the thrill from him speaking more to me now than he ever has before.
"I'd ask for your jacket so the gravel hurts less on my knees."
His teeth scrape across his lower lip as if he loves the response I give, but when he releases his lock on my chin, he doesn't urge me to the ground. Instead, he pulls his wallet from his pocket, the foil packet he pulls from inside of it glistening in the moonlight.