Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
I push my face into her hair at her ear. “Get upstairs.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, I want to fuck you.” I physically lift her off the stool and place her facing the right direction. “Move.” I rest one hand on her nape, squeeze a little, the other I slide onto her tummy, stroking softly, and I walk her through the throngs of people toward the office.
“You gonna listen to me if I say no this time?”
Oh, how she tests me. “Yes,” I grate, because of course I’ll fucking listen. Jesus Christ, she’ll never let me forget that, the spiteful bitch. She knows I’m beating myself up about it constantly. I don’t need her help, although she’ll undoubtedly stick the knife in further when she feels like it.
“No,” she snaps, and I stop dead in my tracks, loosening my hold of her neck.
I breath in deeply. Calmly. “Why do you want to hurt me?” I ask. It’s a perfectly reasonable question. Every damn fucking time she’s got the hump, she kicks me in the balls. I know I’ve always said she can take everything out on me, but there’s only so much a man can stand. Yet at the same time, the twisted fuck in me loves being the one person who gives her the chance to fight back, even if she’s out of line. Like now.
She flexes her neck and faces me, her hand resting on her tummy where mine was a moment ago. “I don’t want to hurt you, baby.” She smiles, and I hate it. My eyes narrow, waiting for the blow, and she steps toward me, looking up as she slips a finger past my lips and circles it around my tongue. She pouts, licking her lips, and my wilting arousal springs back to life. She comes closer. Strokes my lips from side to side, watching, concentrating. I realize I’m heading for a fall here, and yet I cannot find the will to remove myself from the reach of her vindictiveness. “I want to pain you,” she whispers, stroking down my front and cupping my dick. I swallow a grunt and close my eyes.
So she’s going to deprive me? Jesus. Deprive me, knowing I won’t ever force myself on her. She’s done this before, of course. It’s her weapon, her ace card that she flaunts when she’s feeling particularly cruel. Or, actually, helpless. But whereas before I could convince her in my own way, I cannot now. Not after my fuck-up in St. Lucia. “I fucking hate you,” I wheeze in my darkness.
She pushes her lips to mine and kisses me gently, and I naturally fall into it, but my hands remain dangling lifelessly at my sides, scared to hold her. “If you think you’re leaving me at home while you sit in a strip joint having girls drooling all over you, you’d better think again, Black.” She drops me. “And I want Esther and my son back here with us.”
I snort. Not a chance in hell. But I don’t say that; I don’t want to escalate things further. Rose passes me, and I turn, my trousers tight, seeing Beau walking back into the club, and a few feet behind, James, looking as murderous as I’ve ever known him to look.
Beau puts herself on a stool at the bar and signals Mason, and Rose joins her, not signaling Mason.
“Fucking hell.” I scrub a hand down my face and go to them. Beau’s face. It’s grim, and an uncharacteristic urge comes over me to help my mate out and explain. “Beau, let—”
“Don’t, Danny,” she warns, in a tone so deadly I listen. It’s rare to see Beau the cop. But she’s here now, firm in her stance, looking pretty fucking gritty, and I’m quickly very worried for that Beth woman.
“Go take a seat in one of the booths,” I say. “I’ll get Mason to bring some . . .” I falter, looking at James. He doesn’t look like he wants Beau drinking anymore. I don’t think I want her drinking anymore either.
“Wine,” Beau says, not looking at me. “And we’ll be staying here.” She remains on her stool and Rose doesn’t question it. I’ve just about had enough of insolent women for today. I wave Mason over. “Water for that one,” I say, pointing at Rose, who is quick to swing around and give me daggers. I push out my bottom lip. “Did that hurt, baby? Me talking about you like you’re an object, did that hurt?” I’m so fucking childish. Her fault. “And a bottle of Scotch and vodka for the table over there, since it looks like we’ve been banished.”
I join James. “If it’s any consolation, I’m in the doghouse with you,” I say, sliding into the round booth seating, reaching under the table and pushing into my semi-erect dick, willing it to behave. Two bottles and two glasses land on the table, and I nod my thanks to Mason. I’m pretty sure he’s had more tattoos. His neck? The bloke is covered, head to toe. I pour us both a drink and push James’s across the table, taking my own and sipping while I watch him stare at it. “Yo, bud?”