Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Here I am, willingly sitting on Ride’s lap, the circular table in front of us covered with playing cards, and in the center, a huge stack of cash. I thought he was bluffing when he said he wanted me to wear this dress, sans panties, and sit on his lap. I told him no, fuck him. But when he told me he was doing this because it needed to be proven that I was his, that in order for people to not mess with me, to not go against him, I had to show I didn’t want anybody else to touch me but him, I found myself agreeing.
And I still wasn’t sure why.
It didn’t matter anyway. It isn’t like I can deny him. I can keep saying I’m a prisoner here, but it’s not like I’m chained up. He gave me free reign, didn’t say I couldn’t leave. And for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m safe, like I’m able to actually breathe.
“Motherfucker, you better either bet up or fold,” Ride says gruffly, one hand possessively looped around my waist.
I look down at my hands, my fingers twisted together. The fact I wore no panties is a little disconcerting. I feel even more bare and vulnerable. Not to mention, I’m wet, embarrassingly so.
Sitting on Ride’s lap, trying not to let his body heat, the scent of him, or the fact that he is so masculine consume me is harder than I think it should be.
He places his hand of cards down and then has his palm on my thigh. I look at it, his hand so big, his fingers so long, big, callused… sexy.
I try to control myself, try not to breathe harder or squirm on his lap. But it’s a losing battle. I feel my nipples beading beneath the material of my dress. I don’t even know where he got the garment from. I figure it’s from one of the girls, and I don’t know if I like that fact.
Is it someone’s he previously slept with?
I clear my throat and straighten a little bit, but all that does is have me shifting on his lap, my thighs rubbing together, pinching my clit so I gasp involuntarily. I feel his gaze on me and snap my head in his direction, seeing his serious expression, his focus trained right on me.
He knows.
He knows how he affects me, how he affects my body.
And I find that hot as hell.
I hold my breath when I feel him lean in, when his lips brush against the shell of my ear.
“Do you know what I think?” Ride whispers softly, and I shake my head before I can stop myself from responding. That just gives him more power, acknowledging him, letting his words affect me.
He doesn’t pull back, and I don’t either. I inhale slowly as I feel him smile against my skin, the corner of his mouth kicking up.
“I think you like sitting on my lap with nothing but this dress on. I think you want me to slide my hand up your thigh, don’t you?”
I start to breathe harder, faster, but I refuse to answer him. And all that does is make him know the truth.
I slowly pull back, his scruff-covered jaw moving along my cheek, my skin so soft compared to his. It slightly abrades me, but I like it. He’s only an inch from my mouth now, his eyes trained on me, holding my gaze with his own.
“Just admit it; be honest with me, with yourself.”
I can hear people all around us, but I can tell no one is paying attention to this little intimate interaction. There’s no one to interfere, not even my own common sense to butt in.
I feel the hand he has on my thigh slowly start to creep up. Ride moves it underneath the material of my dress, and then he stops, just waits as if he wants me to beg him.
God, I’m so mad at myself for how I feel toward him. His fingers are only an inch from my soaking wet pussy. I force myself not to shift on his lap again, because I know all that’s going to do is cause friction between my thighs. My clit throbs, tingles from my arousal.
I lick my lips, knowing what I’m about to say will change everything. I want him so badly, but I hate myself for that fact as well. I feel my pulse start to race even faster, even harder. He doesn’t look expectant, doesn’t even appear smug. His expression is stone-cold, as if he has all the time in the world for me to admit this.
And as I feel the words start to come up from my throat, form on my tongue, I know I’m absolutely insane. But I can’t stop myself.