Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Holy wow,” I say as we step into the room.
It’s like a palace: gorgeous carpets, modern furniture, a full bar, a jacuzzi in the bathroom, and a balcony that looks out over Boston.
Finn pops champagne. “To being your boyfriend,” he says. “And to our upcoming funerals.”
I toast and drink, grinning, dizzy with the lavishness. “You don’t actually stay here often, do you?”
“Rarely. Only when I need to get away from my family. Which, now that I think about it, happens more than it should.”
“You don’t get along with them?”
“That’s not it.” He steers me onto the balcony. We stand, looking out at the buildings, at the houses.
God, Lucas would’ve never given me something like this.
“What is it then?” I prompt, sensing that he needs to talk this out.
He hesitates like he’s not sure how to answer. But he says, “I love my family. I love my brothers, my father, my mother. The men we employ. Our business interests. Everything that comes along with being a Crowley. Only it’s that the pressure is constant. The politicking, the bickering, the backstabbing, the infighting, it’s never-ending. Sometimes, I need space to think my own damn thoughts without hearing my brothers sniping at everything I choose.”
I sip my champagne, my stomach doing twists. “What exactly do you do again?”
He stares at me, face blank. “I manage clubs.” He hands me a card. Finn Crowley is emblazoned at the top beneath a logo for something called Club Hazard. “Visit sometime. You might like it.”
I slip the card into my clutch. “I will. Thanks.”
He reaches out and touches my cheek. I let out a soft purr, surprising myself. I move closer to him, looking into his icy eyes, feeling suddenly shy.
I’ve never done this before. Coming home with a man. I’m not sure how it works. Do we just—start having sex? How do we transition from chatting to undressing? Even back in school, I was always the careful one, always home at a reasonable hour, always studying, always making sure nobody got too drunk. And if they did get too drunk, I was calling cabs, holding back hair, and tucking them into bed.
This is so beyond me right now.
But there’s something about this man. It’s the way he’s looking at me, like he knows what he wants and he’s not afraid to reach out and take it. Lucas was never like that—my ex couldn’t make a single decision without fretting over a thousand different likely outcomes.
Finn touched me in the bar without hesitating. He simply told me what he wanted, no mixing words, no backtracking or worrying. One night, nothing more. I like that. It feels good to be wanted, even if it won’t last.
“You don’t need to worry,” he whispers, moving closer. The bubbles in the champagne must be getting to my head because I feel like I’m floating. “I’m not fragile. I don’t think you are, either.”
“No, I’m not.” I lick my lips. “You don’t have to worry about breaking me.”
“Good.” His mouth brushes my cheek. “I never tell people about my family. I never talk about my worries. Complaints are for the weak. Men like me, we solve problems, we don’t let them fester. It feels good, talking to you.”
“I’m glad I could be of service.”
His smile is devilish and terrifying all at once. “I want to be of service to you now, Dara. What can I do for you?”
I finish my champagne. Right, okay, this is how we transition. He takes the glass and perches it on the railing. “I don’t know,” I whisper, shivering with anticipation. “I don’t know what I need.” Which is only half true.
What I want is this man’s mouth on mine.
He pulls me against him. I let out a whimper, shocked at the way my body’s reacting to him. He reaches down to my leg again. I’m in work attire—a simple blouse and a knee-length skirt. He pulls the hem up, running a hand over my thigh.
“You’re stressed,” he whispers in my ear. His hand moving higher. “You’ve been hurt. A man you trusted stole from you. He broke your heart. You need a release.”
“Yes,” I whisper, digging my fingers into his back. Fucking hell, he’s right, I really need it.
“I can give that to you.” His hand reaches the top of my tights and he slowly peels them down. “Do you want to shiver, Dara? Do you want to moan? I want to hear you make sounds you never dreamed you could make. I want to taste you come, Dara. Can you do that for me? Will you release for me?”
Holy shit.
The mouth on this guy.
I’ve never heard someone talk like that before in my life.
And I absolutely love it.
“Yes, please,” I say, biting my lip to keep from making those sounds already.
He gets my tights down and his fingers graze over my panties. He growls, smiling as he pulls back. “You’re soaking wet,” he says. “You dirty girl. You want me to lick you clean, don’t you? You really want to be my girlfriend tonight, don’t you?”