Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 17724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 71(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
“Are you sure?” she asks nervously.
Those nerves … they ignite the savage in me. Light the fuse and sizzle until I threaten to explode. I’d grab her and drag her inside, tear off her clothes with my dirty hands and smooth them all over her young clean body. Suck and bite and excite until she was ready for me to part her lips with my pole and make her shake and shiver with release.
“I’m sure,” I growl, turning my back. Looking at her is difficult.
“Okay. Thank you.”
She goes inside. I hear the door click, then click again. Not enough time to calm myself down.
“So, are you really a secret millionaire or what?”
“My business is complicated.”
Lying to her feels wrong.
But telling the truth could get her killed. Or both of us.
“You think I can’t handle it?”
I turn. She’s sitting now, legs crossed. Her shorts have ridden up her legs to hint at the folds of her naïve pussy. My head clouds.
“I think you could take every damn thing I’d give you,” I snarl.
4
ROSE
When he tells me I could take everything he’d give me, I know he’s not talking about the truth. He’s talking about something way steamier.
He’s wearing a tank top that shows his huge muscular arms. Sweat slides down his body. Making him glisten. His jeans hang loosely, no belt, but they’re held up by the stiffness in his pants. He seems incapable of even looking at me without getting hard. And it drives me crazy.
I sip my lemonade, hand trembling.
For a while, he digs without saying anything. My legs press together as lust flows through me. It all feels like too much. Like I’m going to erupt into a surreal orgasm just by sitting here.
The muscles in his back shift as my mysterious neighbor digs.
“It would be good to know if I’m living next to a serial killer,” I joke.
Or … I try to joke. But then he spears the shovel into the dirt and leaps out of the hole. Which is substantially bigger than when he started. He walks toward the back porch, shadow swallowing me.
“What did you say?” he grunts.
“It was … a joke,” I tell him. Shifting on my glutes, or more accurately squirming my ass into the chair as he approaches.
“Why are you so interested in who I am?”
I stand. Sick of this. I’m not going to let this misplaced and crazy desire make me meek. “Why are you so opposed to telling me?”
“Maybe it’s none of your business.”
A step forward, and he’s so close I could reach out and touch him. A bead of sweat slides down his firm chest between his pecs. I wonder if they’re as hard as they look. If I bit down on them, would my teeth shatter on impact? He looks like he’s carved from marble.
“Those tattoos look Russian,” I murmur.
Another step. I can smell him now, thick and manly. No cologne, just a primal hum that surges around me. Through me.
“Why would that mean anything?” He stares like he’s debating throwing me, smacking me or fucking me.
“I read an article the other week. About Russians and their presence in the city.”
“Their presence,” he growls.
The article was about the increase in organized crime. But I don’t dare say that.
He reaches with his big tatted paws and grabs my shoulders, pulls me closer. My sensitive peaks brush against his chest and a shiver of longing spikes through me. My nub scorches against my underwear. My head swims.
“Fuck,” he moans. “Touching you was a mistake.”
“Why?”
“I thought I was stronger than this.”
He slides his arms from my shoulders and around my body. Pulls me right up against him so there’s no confusion now. His rock-solid pole presses urgently against my belly through his jeans.
His lips find mine. Rough and hungry. I’ve never felt anything like this. I’m drunk on him the moment our mouths collide. He growls like he’s letting out the beast inside of him. Greedy hands glide to my ass and squeeze, his hips twitch as though he wants to slip into me already.
I sink my fingernails into his arms. One almost snaps against his firmness.
I was right. He is like marble.
He stops kissing. Pushes me back. Stares at me like I’m his ruin.
“I’m not good for you, Rose,” he snarls. “A man like me—you should slap me. You should push me in that ditch and pile dirt on me. Pile it thick until I’m buried. Because that’s the only thing that will stop me from indulging right now in your curvy young perfect body.”
Next door, a window closes. His head turns violently. Tilted like a predator waiting for sounds of prey.
He steps me backward. Reaches behind me and punches my door open. Drags me into his arms and lifts me off my feet.
Instinct makes me wrap my legs around him. He lays me on the kitchen counter. Kisses me again so that I don’t even have time to process his words.