Total pages in book: 266
Estimated words: 250787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1254(@200wpm)___ 1003(@250wpm)___ 836(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 250787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1254(@200wpm)___ 1003(@250wpm)___ 836(@300wpm)
“Finish getting ready,” he orders. “You have thirty minutes.” With that, he turns and walks farther into the house, disappearing into my living room.
“What?” I storm after him. My modesty no longer concerns me. “What do you mean thirty minutes?” Coming to the edge of the living room, I watch him turn and plop down onto the couch. Leaning back, he sinks into it. His legs fall open, and his arms span the length of the cushions.
My eyes fall to his parted legs, and I imagine kneeling while his hands tighten in my hair as I open my mouth, silently begging him to fuck it like the good girl he wants me to be. My pussy throbs like I’ve never felt before. I’ve never wanted to be fucked so badly in my life. Why him? Why does he make me feel things that I know any other man on this planet can give me?
“I have dinner plans tonight,” I say, clearing my throat and forcing my eyes to meet his stare.
“Dinner plans?” He smirks, and his blue eyes drop to my wrists.
Heat rushes up my spine since I told him things got rough when he questioned the bruises on them. Thinking I let a man use me. If he only knew...
“Cancel them. Tell your boy toy something came up. You have an appointment,” he states.
I don’t know why I thought he’d care if I had a boyfriend. The bastard doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself. “For what?” I snap.
The corner of his lips twitch, and he reaches up, adjusting his backward hat, and I can’t even begin to explain the things it does to my insides. I feel like I’m fucking melting into a puddle before him, and the smirk that graces his gorgeous face tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Thirty minutes, doll face. Then we’re leaving. I don’t care if you get ready or finish getting dressed, I’ll carry you out wearing nothing but your underwear and a towel on your head.” With that, he pulls his cell from his pocket and starts typing away, dismissing me.
I growl, knowing I can’t win with him. I spin around and rush off to my bedroom. Slamming the door, I lock it as if that will keep him out and start getting ready for who the hell knows what.
TWENTY-ONE
HAIDYN
Iget up off the couch and head to her room. She has one minute before we have to leave. I considered sending her a text about her appointment, but I didn’t trust her to go. One of those “you want something done, you have to do it yourself” types of situations. So here I am, taking her to it, even if she kicks and screams.
I go to enter her bedroom, but the door is locked. I smile and shove my shoulder into it, splintering the wood. I could have used my pocketknife to unlock it, but I like the idea of it being broken better.
I look around to see it’s empty. I turn to open her bathroom door when it swings open. She jumps back in surprise. Her eyes instantly narrow up at mine. Her dark hair is dried and now up in a high ponytail, showing off her small face, pouty lips, and slender neck. It makes her blue eyes look bigger. I can tell she’s put a little bit of makeup on by the way her lashes are darker, and her lips are tinted a soft pink to match her cheeks. Her tits are hidden under a hoodie, and she’s got leggings on with tennis shoes.
“Let’s go,” I command, giving her my back and walking through her house.
“Did you break my door?” she barks, but I ignore her. She can see that’s exactly what I did.
Entering her garage, I grab her keys hanging up on the hook.
“What are you doing?” she demands.
“Driving you to your appointment,” I answer, opening her passenger door—always a gentleman.
I turn to look at her, and she pushes out her chest, face scrunched with irritation.
It’s cute, really. My eyes drop to her leggings, and the thought of her thong comes to mind. She’s got a perfect ass. One I just want to bend over my knee and take a belt to. It was red earlier from her shower. I want to see it red from my hand as well while she begs me to stop fucking it.
“Maybe I don’t want you driving my car.”
“I’m driving,” I state. This is not up for debate. “Either I drive you in your car or I put you on the back of my bike.”
She nibbles on her lip at my ultimatum for a second before she lets out a huff and storms over to me. She falls into the passenger seat, and I slam the door shut.
It’s a little on the colder side this afternoon, but the weather doesn’t bother me. I’ll ride all year round. I like the freedom a bike gives me, but I knew she’d choose her car.