Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
A guttural rasp spills from my mouth into hers.
I know what this is.
Insane.
Wrong.
Impossible to stop.
Delia gasps as I grab her bare thigh, running my fingers under her dress. I dig my fingers into her flesh, all I can do to fight the burning urge to slide my hand between her legs, to find out what kind of lace she’s wearing and how soaked it is.
“Delia. Delia, goddamn you,” I whisper, angry at myself because I can’t let go of this obsession.
“Chris...what the hell?” she slurs. The girl’s drunk, but not so far gone that she doesn’t understand that bestial look in my eyes.
“I was wrong about you, princess. Dead fucking wrong. Wrong about myself, too,” I growl.
She stares at me, her eyes huge and questioning.
“Look. I don’t give a shit if you’ve never had a man between your legs or if our parents shacked up like idiots. It shouldn’t hold anything back.” My voice becomes thunder as I wrap my hands around her, find her ass, and squeeze, sweeping her closer. “I fucking need you, woman. I cannot share a bed again without it, you understand?”
The way her eyes lid tells me she gets it.
Because her eyes are bathed in the same hot wanting flames.
“Pick a place for dinner,” I tell her. “No more drinks. No more fun and games. I want you sober, well fed, whatever you need to stay up all night and take every inch of me.”
She trembles so hard I can feel it when I say that last part.
At first, I think she’s scared, overwhelmed by my crazy about-face.
Then she jerks forward, shoving her lips into mine.
I push back.
Hard.
We kiss like a storm breaking, wet and hot and wild, fully swept by our passions.
For the next few minutes, we’re two charges colliding in our own world, oblivious to people walking past.
A few stop and stare, laughing and muttering under their breath.
Hell if I care.
With her, there’s no more pretending.
No more distractions.
Definitely no more denial.
I need, need, need to fuck this girl, to claim her, to show her what she’s done to me.
Honestly, the taboo of having her only makes it worse.
I want Delia like nothing else because she’s pure.
Because my greedy-ass mother made her off-limits before I had any say.
Rather, she tried.
And she’s about to fail miserably.
I won’t let fate or technicalities or even common sense have the final say.
After I’ve had mine, by the end of the night, Delia will be the best fuck of my life I’ll never regret.
* * *
“Come on, lady, hurry up and pick a place before I starve. Let’s eat.” I’m dragging her down the Vegas Strip, stopping to read every other menu plastered on the windows or our phone screens, wandering toward the edgier part of town.
“Oh, hold up, look at this!” Delia points at this goofy-looking comedy club off the street.
“Nah, that’s not food, brat. We need grub, not amateurs looking for desperate laughs,” I say.
My stomach grinds like a sawmill.
I know she must be hungry too, even if she’s too drunk to know it.
We need something solid in our bellies before I have her for dessert.
The girl can’t keep up as we stroll on. She falls behind me, wowed by Vegas in its flashing nighttime glory.
I have to stop and search behind me three times. The first few times, I find her gawking at some touristy sight and have to march backwards to take her hand and lead her along.
This time, I’ll drag her if I have to.
We’re getting farther away from the lights and the main Strip now in our random wandering.
Stone-faced men sulk in the shadows, a contrast to the bright, drunken college kids prowling around and the tipsy, rich girls lost in the city of lights.
I won’t let the one walking with me and laughing become one more.
That sense that we were being eyeballed earlier crawls under my skin, mingling with my lust.
This isn’t just about playing protector.
I have needs.
And I need to be inside her tonight. Every second we waste gallivanting around only delays me from her sweetness.
A couple big men arguing up ahead, shoving each other, grabs my attention. I cross the street to avoid their scrap, only noticing then how distant Delia’s heels sound.
“What now, princess? You keeping up? Or do you need me to carry you around in those heels—”
No reply.
I turn around and do a double take.
The drumming click-click-click of heels isn’t Delia’s, but some random lady dressed like a prostitute.
Delia’s gone.
Oh, shit.
I whip around in a circle, my eyes darting everywhere.
Nothing.
I scramble across the street again, running up and down the block for any inkling of where she might’ve gone.
Then I see this bright-pink neon shape, an outline of an old crone wagging her finger at a crystal ball.
MADAM GHIZZY REVEALS YOUR FUTURE! the sign proclaims proudly.
Oh.
Some cheesy fortune shop. Looks like it’s connected to a whole mall of overpriced gimmicks.