Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
And wait.
And wait.
But no response comes.
Perfect. Grand. Maybe she’s gone to bed too.
Maybe I should.
Instead, I head to the shower and strip out of my clothes. I want the water scalding hot, hot enough to chasten me.
Why can’t I get the woman out of my mind?
God, she looked gorgeous tonight. I was taken off guard, if I’m honest, and nothing ever fucking takes me off guard.
That dress that clung to her curves and dipped just right, revealing perfect cleavage, just enough for a goddamn handful. She’d fill my hands and my mouth, and I—
I frown.
I’m thinking about the way she looked too small, draped in my coat. The way she refused wine at dinner and sparred with me. The way her mother treated her like absolute shite.
I’ll put an end to that. I might not know her family… but they will know me.
And for a second, I imagine taking her to the club. We'd get a private room. And god, the way I'd tease her, using every implement and tool at my disposal.
I'd bet she'd lose her fucking mind with a hood or a vibrator. But which one? Would she prefer sensory deprivation or overstimulation? The way she responded when I had her pressed against the wall with my hand across her arse tells me she's got a submissive streak she may not know about yet. That sharp inhale, the heat radiating off her skin, the way she didn't fight me—just took it. Her body already knows what it wants, even if her mind won't admit it.
I'd make her come, over and over again, until I'd mapped every response. Does she need it rough, or does she fall apart with gentle touches? Would she beg, or would I have to drag it out of her? How much teasing could she take before she broke?
What would make her submit completely? Restraints? My hand fisted in her hair? Orders whispered against her ear while she's trembling and desperate?
What would she taste like? What would she look like stripped bare—not just the clothes, but that fucking attitude? Would she still have that sharp tongue when she's tied down and needy? Or would she finally go soft and pliant?
A man can't help but wonder about his wife when he's fucking engaged to her. Can't help but wonder if she'd take a proper spanking—not just the quick punishment I gave her, but a real one. Slow. Deliberate. Would her arse flush that same perfect pink? Would she count for me? Would she cry? Would she get wet from it?
I want to find out. Want to bend her over and take my time, see exactly how much she can take. See if she'd break… or beg me for more.
I do a mental list of everything I know about her.
She gets nervous in crowds and in unfamiliar settings, and sometimes she flinches when the lights are too bright or the sounds are too loud.
Will she be as timid in bed?
Is she a virgin?
Two fuckin’ months. Eight more weeks.
Less than sixty days until my life as I know it will be over.
I scrub shampoo through my hair, then rub a bar of soap over myself and a washcloth. Wash up.
I’m frustrated, blood’s up, and I want something to relieve my pain. Feels like it did when I was in prison—too much testosterone, too little to do. Not enough freedom.
I fist my thick cock and stroke it, chasing something, anything, that’ll get me out of my head. And my mind lands on… Erin.
Kneeling on her knees in front of me. There’s something about that look in her eyes that makes me fucking ferocious.
I want to ruin her.
I want to feel that pretty, smarmy mouth of hers around my cock.
I imagine how she’d look after a good session at The Craic. Her eyes blown wide. Her body trembling. Her arousal dripping between her legs.
I want to teach her to mind her manners. How to be a good girl.
I stroke harder, faster. Imagine her sprawled on the bed, tits down, ass in the air, marked with my belt, my teeth, my hand. Imagine her slick pussy waiting for me, and I collide right into it. I imagine pumping in and out.
I fuck my hand until I come with a growl locked behind my teeth.
I’ll teach her, like I’ll teach her everything else—how to kneel. How to spread her legs when I eat her out. How to do what she’s fucking told and respect her husband.
I clean off, and water scalds the back of my neck. Steam fogs the mirror. I turn off the water, dry off, and wrap the towel around my waist. Then I check my phone.
Still no fucking text from Erin.
Why the fuck do I care?
She’s nothing to me, and yet… she knows how to get under my skin, and I hate that. Makes me feel young again in the worst goddamn way—back when I was some pissed-off teenager with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove.