Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Needs to be illegal, just saying. I don’t even get affected by smell. Fine, I do, but it’s usually the unpleasant ones like a mint mixed with cigarettes.
But male scent, in general, used to be background noise. Not now, apparently, because I keep sniffing Marcus like he’s made of drugs.
Actually, he’s more like those diffusers Jude buys—the ones that help with sleep.
“We’re here.” He hops from the bike, forcing me to release him.
I grind my teeth against the crashing wave of disappointment. This is the second time it’s happened today.
Disappointment.
The first time was when he pulled out of my ass instead of fucking me—seriously, since when does the motherfucker choose not to use me for his sick entertainment?
And why the hell did I, for one fraction of a second, nearly blurt out “Fuck me”?
Me? Being fucked by a man?
Used by a man?
That’s just blasphemous.
Not that he didn’t all the other times, but this was different. Oral, hand jobs, and his cock rubbing against mine aren’t penetration.
I should never, ever allow penetration. Just like giving blowjobs is my red line.
And yet, at that moment, when the tip of his cock was stretching me open, I was seriously contemplating it.
In reality, I should’ve been glad he pulled out, but that’s not the feeling that coursed through me.
It was a crushing disappointment.
Someone sedate me.
I jump from the motorcycle and remove the helmet he gave me as he opens the garage, my gaze flitting around. The neighborhood is shit, as expected for Stantonville, but the house itself looks clean. Small, but I guess decent on the scale of places around here.
A mixture of smells of different types of food permeates the air, and my stomach makes a growly noise.
Marcus grins, his face seeming softer and surprisingly welcoming as he grabs the bike’s handlebars and starts to wheel it inside.
“Give me a second and I’ll feed you,” he says while disappearing into the garage.
“I don’t need you to feed me.” I lean against the wall, my arms and ankles crossed, and that’s when I notice it. “You have another bike?”
He follows my field of vision to where I’m glaring at this monster-looking bike sitting in the corner half disassembled.
I considered buying him this model in the beginning, but I asked for Jude’s opinion, pretending to be interested in bikes, and he only talked shit about it. He said it was soulless and not really great for riding. Jude recommended the one I got, saying that real riders who appreciate excellent craftsmanship and mechanics would be more drawn to something like this.
Yes, I’ve done my research.
“Some rich guy like you dropped it by and refused to take it back, so I’m selling some parts and will be using others to customize this baby.” He strokes the bike I got him. “Now that I can accept it from you, I’ll take good care of it.”
I narrow my eyes. “What rich guy gave you that one?”
He tilts his head to the side, standing taller, and once again, I’m caught off guard by just how…stunning he looks.
Are guys even supposed to look stunning? Only girls are beautiful, men are just…not.
Or that’s what I thought all this time.
As I stare at Marcus in his zipped-up leather jacket, dark jeans, and worn-out boots, though, I can’t deny how mouthwatering he looks.
Like something edible I can sink my teeth into and devour.
“Why are you asking?” he drawls with a hint of amusement.
I remember that some other rich guy is buying him with money, too, and my mouth sets in a line.
“You obviously accepted the bike from him and didn’t send it back, so I want to know if you agreed to be in a relationship with him as well.”
He nods solemnly. “He does want to have a relationship.”
“What?”
“The feeling isn’t mutual.”
“You seem to have an awful lot of rich guys vying for your attention.”
“True…”
“Is he richer than me?”
The asshole nods. “I believe so.”
“Who the fuck is he?”
“Jealous?”
“Territorial. I don’t like competition.”
“I don’t believe my dad can be competition to you. At least, not in that regard.”
“Your…dad?”
“Yeah.” He strides toward me, and I stand straighter, my spine snapping upright as he wraps an arm around my waist. “I can only accept the bike you gave me, baby.”
My throat dries as his closeness overwhelms me, but before it can sneak into my rib cage and cause out-of-character behavior, I push him away, stepping back. “Don’t touch me in public.”
He tilts his head to the side, a flash of darkness passing through his eyes. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not gay.”
He laughs, the sound unhinged. “You’ve come on my hands and cock and tongue more than I can count, and you agreed to be with me exclusively, and you’re still not gay? The closet is invisible at this point.”
“I am not gay.” I haul him by the collar, my voice straining. “Not with you, and definitely not in public. We’re strangers in the outside world, and this is just fucking.”