Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 133975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Keys didn’t feel fear. He hadn’t since he was a child and lived among monsters. He hadn’t been able to control anything then, and when he finally could, he vowed to always be the one controlling every situation. He didn’t want to have the relationships some of his fellow Torpedo Ink members had with their wives or girlfriends. He didn’t want the baggage. The way he looked at it, women were a liability, using men’s cocks to get their way. That was a huge no for him. He wasn’t going to have any woman tell him where to put his cock. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her lead him around by it.
Lyric hadn’t moved. She just lay over him, her soft breasts pushing into his chest. He’d found his answer to the question of real red hair when he’d removed her jeans and panties. She had vivid red at the junction of her legs. Her mound was pressed tightly over his groin. If he weren’t so damned cold and she hadn’t taken two bullets and a hit on the head for him, he’d already be burying his cock deep.
He stroked a caress down the back of her head, feeling the sticky blood matting her hair. “That hurt?”
“Yes.” She murmured her answer, lips against his nipple. Her breath was warm. He was fast getting hot. This might not have been his most brilliant idea. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to shut it down.
His fingers tangled in her hair. “Don’t go to sleep,” he cautioned.
“Do you have to make everything sound like an order?”
There was a tiny note of petulance in her voice. That alarmed him more than the nameless emotion he felt holding her. That single little note of complaint was unlike her.
“Yes. I’m always in charge. You need to get used to it. As soon as we’re both in better shape, we’ll be having a conversation,” he warned. He wrapped a thick strand of her blazing-red hair around his finger. “I’m extremely upset with you.”
“How thrilling.”
That was a classic Lyric response, so much more like her. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
“Why should I be?”
“Everyone else has the common sense to be. You’re the only person who argues with me.”
“I don’t argue.”
The way her lips moved against his chest began to drive him crazy. She did oppose his opinion in their discussions, but she didn’t view that as arguing. Neither did he. “You just ignore me when I tell you to do something and get your ass shot.”
“That was a conscious decision.”
His entire body went still. His mind froze. The volcano that slept in him woke with a terrible roar. It was all he could do not to smack her bare ass as hard as he was capable, which was far too hard.
“Conscious decision?” he repeated, willing her to take it back.
“Yes. I did so with intention and determination. That’s a conscious decision.”
His fingers tightened to a fist in her hair, uncaring of her head wound. He dragged her head up until her emerald eyes met his. He ignored the pain he saw there. She deserved to be in pain. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Lyric? I’m going to make a conscious decision to beat you within an inch of your life.” He meant every word, and he let her see she wasn’t nearly as safe with him as she thought she was.
He expected her to show him fear. Instead, she gave him a faint smile. “If you want to teach me some kind of lesson, you’ll have to do it when I’m capable of hearing you.”
That just pissed him off more. He couldn’t win with her. His fist tightened even more in her hair. “You don’t put yourself in danger like that. It wasn’t necessary.”
Her green eyes searched his, and for the first time she looked uncertain. Maybe hurt. She was beginning to realize he was truly pissed at her. She’d been too cold and in pain to understand he wasn’t kidding around with her. He could see the knowledge blossoming in her eyes.
“I thought it was.” She whispered her answer. He felt each word like fingers stroking over his cock. She was beat the hell up, had three different wounds, was cold as fuck, and all he was beginning to think about was fucking her.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t.”
“Okay, then.” Her long lashes came down, covering the green of her eyes.
He lowered her head to his chest, but this time she didn’t snuggle close. She was still in the same position, but there was tension in her body that hadn’t been there before. Earlier, she’d been wholly relaxed; now she was not.
Good. Maybe she’d listen to him when it came to her safety. He stroked a caress down the back of her head and felt her wince. She didn’t tell him to stop. She didn’t whimper or whine. How many others, men or women, would have gone through what she had and not been vocal about their discomfort?