Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“Why are there no other fighters in here?” I ask.
“Because I own this heap of shit, and I make them go to the women’s side.” Of course, he owns it, the control freak that he is. Makes sense, I guess.
“So, where do the women go?”
He turns on the water and looks back at me, his gaze dripping with condescension, like I’ve just told a joke he doesn’t think is funny. “No women are allowed to fight here,” he states categorically.
Stepping under the steaming spray, he makes sure to face me. And I can’t help how my gaze drifts to his ridged abdominals and his cock, which is semi-hard.
“Care to join me?” he asks, not commenting about my staring this time. I think he likes it.
I ignore the question and sit down on one of the benches. I might as well be comfortable while I watch.
“Did you think about my offer?” he asks.
“Another newspaper reached out to me and offered me a job,” I tell him.
He pauses, his hands on his chest. “And?”
“I want to write what I want to write.”
“And you want to write about me,” he says, stating the obvious.
“I’m a curious woman, Soren. I want to know things that others would usually shy away from.”
“Yes, I know.”
He turns the water off, not bothering to grab a towel, and walks toward me, leaving a trail of water behind him. He stops just in front of me, his cock almost in my face. I’m thankful I shoved my hands under my thighs when I sat down, because the way he’s looking at me, the way heat rolls off him like a second skin, his cock bobbing long and thick and almost in my face, I don’t trust myself not to reach out and touch him.
I tilt my head back so I can meet his eyes, and he reaches down and touches my chin. “I’ll buy those too,” he says, as if that’s the obvious answer.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Everything has a price.”
“I don’t,” I tell him.
“No, so it appears.” His hand drops from my face as he steps back to his locker, where he starts drying himself. “But we have a conflict of interest now,” he states.
“How so?”
“Because you want me to fuck you.”
I immediately start shaking my head as he continues to get dressed. Yes, a small part of me can’t deny the attraction that is there, not that I would admit that to him, though. Why would I inflate his ego more than it already is? When he’s fully clothed, he turns to me and says, “Come back to my place. We can discuss your interview.”
“That seems highly inappropriate,” I reply as I rise to my feet.
“Does it, though?”
“Yes, it does. Do you bring your other employees back to your apartment?”
“No,” he says as he pulls his keys from his bag.
“Then, I think I should go home. Was that all you wanted to discuss?”
“Come back to mine.” He completely ignores my question. His agenda is the only thing on his mind.
“No,” I insist.
He steps closer and leans down so his lips are dangerously close to mine. “Do you plan to go home and pleasure yourself with a toy, when I’m willing to assist you in that department?”
My eyes widen and then narrow at his words.
After a moment, I shoot him a sly smile and say, “Maybe,” before I turn, intending to leave through the door he brought me in. But before I can take a step, he yanks me back so I slam into him, my hands coming up to his chest to steady myself.
“Use the back door. It’s less crowded,” he says before I can tell him to stop touching me.
Asshole.
He backs away, walks to a back door I overlooked before, and pushes it open.
“Did you drive here?”
“No.”
“I’ll take you.”
“No, I got here on my own, and I can see myself home on my own as well.” I raise a brow at him as he continues to hold the door open, waiting for me.
“I’m driving you home. So, get moving.” He jerks his head, indicating for me to get out.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Does that work for you, telling a woman what to do?”
His gray eyes lock on mine. “Yes.”
“Of course it does. Do you say ‘please, drop your panties’ as well?”
“I don’t say ‘please.’”
“Yeah, figured as much.” I shrug and walk outside, pulling out my phone to request a ride. Then he takes my cell from my hand and strides toward his car without hesitation.
“Hey!” I follow after him.
He unlocks the car and opens the back door to throw his bag inside before closing it and then turning to face me. “Get in the car,” he orders.
“Give me my phone back.”
“Get in the car,” he repeats, opening the passenger door. “Now.”
The voices of a few drunk people leaving the fight drift over to us.