Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Fuck you!” she shouts, still struggling underneath my leg.
I trail my eyes down from her hands to her ass, and unfortunately, the way she’s continuing to thrash around combined with the sight of her flipped over my lap and tied puts my dick in a compromising position. I shift my hips, adjusting the semi-hard on I can’t seem to fucking get rid of, then I feel her teeth tear into the upper part of my thigh.
“You crazy....” I hiss at the throbbing pain and grab a fistful of her tangled blonde hair, jerking her head away from my leg. It shouldn’t turn me on, but fucking hell, I love a feisty girl. Fuck, I’m sicker than I thought. I probably need to get the hell away from her.
I rise and she falls from my lap to the floor. Before she has a chance to try and stand, I pick her up, and toss her onto the couch across from my desk.
“You really don’t know when to just stop. Fuck, I was being nice to you!” I say as I loom over her, wiping the sweat from my brow.
“Yes, I’ll just lay down and let you kill me,” she says with bitter sarcasm.
“Who the fuck said anything about killing you? Don’t fuck with me, and you won’t have to lay down and get killed. Damn!” I drag my hand down my face. This is such a fucking pain in the ass. “Don’t fucking move. I’m done playing with you. Just sit right there.” I arch my brow as I point at her, and she looks away. I’m pretty sure she’s afraid to move now.
I fall back in my chair and sit, staring at her and wondering how in the fuck this is ever going to go right.
“I had no idea he was mixed up in any of this shit.” Her face crumples and her head falls back into the couch. “How could I not know?”
The longer I sit here and look at her, the harder that guilty feeling tries to bubble to the surface again. The professional in me knows what I should do, but that dirty, miniscule part of me that still has some deformed part of a conscience is screaming that I shouldn’t. If this were a man, I would have one of my guys kill him, but it’s a fucking girl, and I’d really rather not kill her. I can lie, cheat, steal, kill; I can do a number of horrendous things without batting an eye—as long as it doesn’t involve a woman. And as fucked up as that mess with Joe’s wife was, I can’t go there, even though I know it’s probably safer for me to; I can’t kill her.
“You just…” I shake my head, “stay there.” I stand and pace in front of my desk, then grab the bottle of whiskey, twisting the cap and tossing it to the floor. I turn the bottle up and suck back several mouthfuls of the burning liquor while staring at her. I take one more large gulp, then sit on the floor and slump against the door.
“If you try to leave, you’ll have to get through me. I’ve been pretty fucking patient up until now. Don’t test me.” I flip my shirt up to reveal my gun. “Just so you know, if I have to kill you to get my fucking money, I will.”
Her chin drops to her chest, and she cries. And I drink. I drink until my eyes fucking cross because I see no solution to this situation that I like. At some point, she falls asleep, and I keep tipping back the bottle, watching her. She’s just lying there, arms behind her back, hair matted to her face. I skim over her, stopping to admire her breathing. She’s out cold, and each large swell of her chest forces her breasts up. That is one thing that gets to me, for some reason, watching a woman breathe—the way their breasts rise and fall, it’s a turn-on, and the fact that her hands are tied behind her back is just making each draw she pulls in more pronounced and slightly labored. Fuck me! I have to shake off that automatic response my body has to it. I keep watching her for God only knows how long, my dick pressing against my jeans like goddamn roadkill. I can’t take it any longer.
I manage to stand, but only briefly before staggering and falling into my desk. “Fuck this,” I grumble and grab the knife lying on the desk. “Just fuck it!” I stumble toward her, losing my balance several more times before I kneel next to the couch. I stare at her, flipping the knife in my hand. I shouldn’t do this, but I’m drunk. I take the blade and slip it between her wrists, and the zip tie snaps free. I guess even soulless motherfuckers like me have a weakness. Fuck it to hell. I rub my hand over my head, dropping the knife to the floor when I fall into the wall. I settle back against the door, and my eyes grow heavy. Great! The damn room is spinning. I lean my head against the door and pass out.