Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“Do it," he commands again.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I practically hiss. I am not getting under the table. But my thighs involuntarily clench at the thought of him punishing me. I hide my face behind my hand and try not to be turned on by the image of going down on him right now. What the fuck is wrong with me?
"Not now, the waiter’s coming," he says in a more lighthearted tone, smirking at me.
I look up at him, face flushed with my heart racing, and my clit throbbing with need.
He smiles broadly. “You were really thinking of doing it?” he asks with disbelief.
Oh, you fucker. I bite down on my lip, feeling a bit of outrage stirring inside me, but mostly relief.
He starts laughing, and I can’t help but swat him on his arm. It feels good to be this relaxed with him.
He shrugs and says, "I just wanted to see how you’d react.” I smack him again playfully and settle into the leather-lined booth.
"You didn’t seem to mind me going down on you the other night," he says after the waiter sets down our plates and refills our wine glasses, then leaves.
“I was high.” I say the words a little louder than I should, and I instantly cover my mouth.
"And you liked it," he says with a wink.
I feel the blood rushing to my face, making my cheeks burn. Who wouldn’t? He can’t hold that against me.
“Come on sweetheart, you know I’ll take care of you after," he goads.
“Shut up,” I say playfully, sneaking a glance at him as I spear my fork into the risotto. I close my eyes, savoring the delicious flavor, but they pop open just as quickly as they closed at the sound of breaking glass.
“You stupid bitch!” echoes throughout the restaurant, and the place goes silent. The only sound is the scraping of wooden chair legs across the tiled floor as a man in a grey suit with a crisp white shirt pushes back from his seat and stands up. He’s wiping furiously down his shirt with his white cloth napkin and cursing as he does.
Everyone turns to see what's happening. Across from him is another man who’s not doing a damn thing to stop the shit-show this guy is putting on.
“I’m so-” a waitress is standing next to the man, mortified and clearly upset. She’s bent over the table, picking up the wine bottle and a glass that’s fallen onto the floor and shattered.
“Sorry! Do you know how much this suit cost?” the man screams at her.
That poor waitress! My heartbeat quickens watching him stare her down as she picks up the plates with the spilled wine.
“Sir, I do apologize,” the maître d' begins as he walks up to the pissed off patron, but the customer takes a step forward and gets right in the guy’s face.
Oh shit. My body heats as I watch this guy freak the fuck out.
“It’s all on the house,” the waitress says shakily.
What a fucking prick!
I glance at Derek, and the look on his face is murderous. His pale eyes are smoldering, and his strong jaw is tightly clenched.
“Derek,” I say but I barely get his name out before he climbs out of the booth, my hand on his arm does nothing to stop him.
I scoot out of the booth after him, the sound of the man yelling dimming as the blood rushes in my ears.
Fuck. This isn’t good.
CHAPTER 8
Derek
Adrenaline is coursing through my blood, and all I can see is my father. I’m breathing heavy, and my fist is screaming in pain. My knuckles split from the impact of landing the punch right to this fucker’s jaw.
Don’t fucking talk to her like that! I can hear myself scream as my father tries to hit her again. It’s all I can see. How I was helpless back then. But now, watching the same scene play out, I’m not going to sit back and watch.
I can’t allow it. I can’t fucking stand a man yelling at a woman. A man putting his hands on her, talking down to her. Degrading her and making her scared.
I won’t allow it.
The table rattles and the glass clinks as the other man at the table jolts back, his chair hitting the floor as he stands and backs away slowly.
My body’s tense and ready for a fight.
The waitress steps back, and so does everyone else. I can feel their eyes on me as the fucker lands hard on the tiled floor. He throws one hand up in surrender while the other cups his jaw. His mouth fills with blood. All I can see is red.
“I-” The fucker on the ground cowers and starts to speak, but I yank him up by his collar. Every inch of my skin covered with a cold sweat as my heart pounds.