Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
They’re both trying to hype the other up to come speak to me, something they’d probably never have the courage to do if it weren’t for the alcohol they’ve been drinking.
Maybe some women would be impressed, but that’s the opposite way I feel when the teasing they’re doing to each other turns sexual. I doubt either of them could even find the clit despite one’s declaration to being able to make me scream his name.
This is exactly what I mean by little dick energy. A man who knows how to please a woman, even in the traditional sense—which is never something I’m looking for—doesn’t have to convince himself that approaching a woman he’s interested in is a good idea.
He walks up and takes his shot.
This is something I can give the men in Cerberus kudos for. They don’t waver. They don’t second-guess. They are the ultimate definition of big dick energy.
Instead of letting the guys beside me build anymore courage, I turn my head and glare at them, giving them a look that doesn’t leave any room for discussion. Neither of them has a chance, and they’d be fools to even try. I’m not above hurting a guy’s feelings. I’m not politically correct. I’m not going to giggle, sweep a lock of hair behind my ear and tell them thanks but no thanks. It’s not my style. I don’t have it in me.
One guy darts his eyes away as quickly as he can. The other lets his gaze linger before his throat works on a rough swallow. Suddenly, his beer becomes more interesting than me.
“Put your teeth away,” Drake says as he approaches. “Do you need another Coke?”
I grin at him. He isn’t intimidated by me, but as I look him up and down, I know he’s also not capable of giving me what I need.
I have no doubt the man could please a woman, or a man, considering I’ve seen him flirt relentlessly with both, but he’s not the kind of thrill I’m looking for.
Coming from pleasure and coming from force are two very different things. One I have no interest in and the other I seek out to my own detriment, which is kind of the entire point.
“I’m good,” I tell him as I pull a five from my pocket and drop it on the bar.
I do my best to ignore the breeze on my lower belly from my busted zipper. Thinking of it makes me think of him, and as I walked away tonight, I told myself I’d leave that entire situation alone.
“Need me to call you a cab?”
I huff. “I had a Coke.”
“It’s dangerous out there,” he counters. “Maybe one of the guys can give you a ride back to the clubhouse.”
I narrow my eyes at him. I’ve hung out here with Cerberus before. I’ve arrived with them and left with them, but I’ve never had a conversation with Drake about any of it. He’s either assuming I’ve been staying there, just going off what he has seen, or someone is talking about me. The hairs on my arms stand up with the thought. I fucking hate my name in other peoples’ mouths.
“I’ll be fine,” I say as I stand.
I don’t bother looking back at the table of Cerberus guys before walking back outside.
I don’t know what bothers me more. Is it that he assumed I’d want to leave with Cerberus or that I can’t handle myself in the damn dark alone?
I focus on those two things as I walk toward one of the motels in town because thinking of what my head wants to focus on isn’t an option.
I’m done with Angel. He gave me what I needed… twice… and that’s enough.
I shoot off another text to Alan, but at this point, I’ve gotten used to those going unread. I can’t ask for another handler because it would bring up too many questions. Alan gives me a little more leeway than I imagine anyone else in the Bureau would. He knows the dangers I put myself in, but he also doesn’t question me. He knows it would be pointless, so he no longer bothers to warn me. He gives me the facts about the case and lets me make my own choices on how to handle those situations. He’s willing to leave certain things out of reports, and I’m grateful to him for it. I’d have to undergo another round of psychological testing if they knew what I really go through. Condoning the assault of an agent isn’t something the FBI would ever want to be accused of, so going above Alan’s head isn’t going to happen, and he damn well knows it.
The guy behind the desk at the fleabag hotel leers at me like I’m fresh meat as I pay for my room. But when I stare back at him, he cowers and apologizes.