Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” she says, the line goes dead.
What?
I tip my head back and scull my beer, fuck tomorrow.
I want answers now.
I storm into the Roxy and walk through the interconnecting bars. This club isn’t new to me, I’ve been here many times before. Never looked for one specific person like this though.
What the fuck is she playing at?
I go through the main bar, into the sports area and then onto the Karaoke lounge, there’s a different kind of crowd here tonight. Everyone looks like they have come straight from work and my eyes roam over every corner as I search.
Where is she?
I go up the staircase and come to the cocktail bar, and I see her, she’s sitting at the end of the bar alone, she looks preoccupied while drinking a Margarita.
What the hell?
I walk over and sit on the stool beside her, “Hi.”
She looks up surprised, “Dylan.”
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping myself busy.”
“Why?”
Her eyes hold mine and she shrugs, her eyes betray her and show me all the emotion she isn’t saying.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She sips her drink as she acts casual.
“You are here to stop yourself from thinking about what, Zoe?” I snap in frustration.
“You, Dylan.”
“Why don’t you want to think about me?”
“Because you are too fucking perfect and it’s freaking me out,” she spits. “And I can’t like you this much after we met like two minutes ago because that would make me completely fucking pathetic.”
“Calm down.”
“Calm down,” she gasps. “How the hell can I calm down? she whispers angrily.
I feel that slow throb between my legs, the one I get every time she is near. My eyes drop to her lips and my cock swells in anticipation. “It’s you who is perfect, Zoe,” I whisper, I lean in and take her lips with mine, my tongue slides into her mouth, and I get a rush of arousal. We kiss for a moment, right here in the bar for all to see. Until I can’t see straight any longer. “This way.” I take her hand and lead her through the club, I need her.
Now.
We walk down the corridor, and I open the staff bathroom and push her in. “You’re about to be punished.”
“For what?”
“You fucking call me when you say you will,” I demand.
Her eyes widen.
“Now, get on my cock, where you belong.” I slam her up against the wall as we kiss like animals, I unzip my jeans and slip her panties to the side and slide my hard length through her wet lips. “You need me.” I keep teasing her with my cock, back and forth, back and forth. She’s swollen and wet. Waiting for what I can give her. “Admit it, you need me, Zoe.” I tease her some more as I feel her creamy body craving mine.
“I know. I do.” She kisses me softly; her hands are in my hair.
“I’m right fucking here. Take me.” I hold her legs back and slam in deep, pinning her to the wall.
“Dylan,” she whimpers as she feels the burn. “Oh god, it’s so good.”
I begin to ride her, hard and fast as we stare at each other.
Lust takes over, but every slap of our skin brings an undercurrent of emotion closer to the surface.
I need you too.
5
Zoe
We lie in the darkness, a tangled mess of naked skin. It’s late and we’ve been making love for hours, each time I can feel us get a little closer.
My head is on Dylan’s chest, his lips are at my temple and his fingers trail idly up and down my arm. He seems distracted, as if miles away.
“Christmas makes me sad,” he says softly.
I frown, “Why?”
“It reminds me of what I don’t have.”
I kiss his chest and remain silent as I listen.
“When I was a little, I used to pray that the Christmas angel would come and save me and give me a family of my own.”
“You don’t have a family?” I whisper.
He pauses as if getting the wording right in his head, “I was a ward of the state. The government took me from my parents when I was a baby, they were drug addicts. I bounced between foster and group homes until I was old enough to do it on my own.”
My heart constricts, I imagine him as a little boy praying for a Christmas Angel who never came, and my eyes well with tears.
“When you wanted me to decorate the tree…….”
“It’s okay,” I cut him off. “I get it.” I trace my finger on his chest as I try to think of the right thing to say.
“It’s impossible for me to believe that living with my parents could have been worse than the places I grew up.”
I can feel the sadness seeping out of him, it’s overpowering, and suddenly I feel like an entitled princess by getting upset that he didn’t want to decorate a stupid fake tree.