Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
For several more minutes, I bob her head between his legs, allowing the little piece of wicked metal to tease and torture and torment our boyfriend’s overly sensitive hole, only granting her permission to slow down when he’s damn near sobbing in overstimulation, “Sirrrrrrrr…please…please…”
An unmistakable instinct convinces me to command, “Say it.”
Regardless of not having declared exactly what it is, he knows.
Because he knows me.
Because I know him.
“Fuckin’ say it to me.”
“I…” his fit frame begins shuddering harder, “I…”
“Now.”
“I love you, Sir.” The Kid’s eyes fly wide open on what appears to be a faint second orgasm. “Fuck, I love you.”
Ripping our woman back up to a sitting position, I make sure to hold her glossy gaze. “Your turn.”
To my surprise, her hesitation is completely absent. “I love you, Sir.”
“I love you too, Rabbit,” leaves me sweetly prior to twisting her face over her shoulder. “Him.”
“I love you, Kid,” she lovingly pants prompting him to propel himself upward to match her posture.
Cup her wet face.
Brush her lips and adoringly repeat the sentiment, “I love you too, baby.”
Their tongues only briefly touch before he’s reaching to remove my touch from her head to his. Our mouths eagerly crash together next, yet our mesh of a mess is slyly infiltrated by a third tongue.
A tongue that we both chase around one another’s, anxious to feel anything possible.
Everything.
Eventually, the three of us wander off the bed, back to the bathroom where they migrate their way into the shower while I simply wash my junk in the sink.
Right as I begin to dry the area, my cell rings again, Garcia’s name unrefutably taking up what feels like the entire screen. Convinced that whatever it is can wait has me answer the call on speaker. “Legal shit is closed on Sundays, Garcia. Whatever it is can wait until fucking tomorrow. It’s The Kid’s birthday, forfuckssake.”
A single beat is all that precedes his bone chilling statement. “That wasn’t McAdams on the plane.”
Chapter 4
Kipp
We went from best birthday ever to second worst in record fucking timing.
Even the world’s fastest Bugatti would scoff at this shit.
I carelessly toss another car mag on the floor pile, unable to ignore the small chuckles coming from the kitchen, which is the area my boyfriend and his “friend” are also supposedly searching for micro cameras.
I didn’t know we were supposed to be having such a good time ripping our apartment apart again. Here I thought scouring every nook and cranny and crevice for tiny devices was supposed to be taken serious like a diagnostic test not lightly like a fucking car wash.
Great.
Now that fucking song is gonna be in my head.
Nolan laughing slightly louder redirects my attention to where his frame is lifted onto the tips of his toes so that he can properly pat around the open cabinets above the stove. From here, it’s impossible not to admire how good he looks in that position.
Long, thick limbs stretched.
Back flexed.
Tight ass filling out his dark jeans.
Fuck, if we weren’t on a desperate mission to reassure Bunny that we’re not being recorded by the crazy motherfucker stalking her, I’d take a ten-minute break on my knees, between his legs, and refuel on that diesel.
“Come on, Ace,” Garcia smugly chortles at the same time he lowers himself to a squatting stance in order to feel around the bottom of the cabinets. “You know you can’t lie to me. You’ve never been able to.”
But me?
Sure.
What else do you call having a secret fucking life I know nothing about?
It’s like buying a used car in fantastic condition only to find out the car history wasn’t completely disclosed prepurchase.
That’s not to say I wouldn’t want Nolan if I knew more shit about him.
I obviously would.
I’d obviously still take him off the lot – any lot – any day of the week…It’s just…it’d be fucking nice not to wonder about who sat in the driver’s seat before me.
Who drove him better.
Best.
Who knew how to shift all his gears.
Press all his buttons.
With Bunny, I don’t have to wonder about the last one who held the keys.
His ass is still trying to get back under her hood.
Yet with Nolan?
I’m not even sure how many people he let enjoy a test drive.
“I ain’t lyin’,” my boyfriend grunts a laugh in return, body inching closer to Garcia’s during his continued search of the space. “Easiest hundred I ever made.”
Garcia cocks his head up, crooked grin so nauseating that I can’t help but gag under my breath. “Even easier than-”
“Fuck. Me.” Nolan shakes his head and drops his gaze to our attorney. “Second easiest.”
“See,” the man I hate being here laughs louder. “I know you.”
“Do you know now is not the time to try to play grab ass?” I bite on the drop of another magazine, revealing that everything on our coffee table is clear of possible recording devices.