Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
All I want to do is ruin that mouth of hers.
Take all that perfection and make it filthy.
I want to smear the chocolate all over her breasts and lick her clean—I bet that would drive her fucking insane. She’d hate and love every single of it in equal measure.
“Did you have a nice time?” I ask as we leave together. She’s a little unsteady from drinking several glasses of wine.
“Define nice,” she says, grinning. “I had an acceptable time. I didn’t want to kill myself anyway.”
“That’s a win.”
“I’ll admit something else.” She stops outside and turns to me, her hands on my chest, her eyes shining with a loose alcohol-inspired excitement, and my heart starts to hammer with a sudden and raw intensity. I want her close to me, I want her as close as I can have her, and suddenly the thin layers of clothing that separate our bodies are too fucking much. I want to tear the slit in her dress higher, rip it up over her belly, off her breasts, tear the damn thing in half. I want her quivering on the sidewalk, moaning my name.
“Go ahead, I want to hear it.”
“I almost had fun.” She grins a little. “Almost. You were actually listening to me a bit back there.”
“Like I said, you’re the expert in all this rich people bullshit.”
She sighs and bats her eyes. “That sounded something like a compliment, except you’re always so crude. You’ll have to tone it down, you know. My rich people bullshit hates that sort of talk.”
“I don’t think I can, filthy girl,” I say softly and put my hands on her hips. She shivers slightly under my fingers. “Fact is, you’re much too sanitized already. You have your nice, neat, clean little world, with all the nice, neat connections all mapped out in your head. But do you even know who’s fucking who?”
She looks away. “That’s not appropriate.”
“No, it’s not, but it’s also important.” I squeeze her hips tightly. “You can’t know these people if you don’t know who’s fucking who, who’s coming inside of whom, who’s sucking off who, who’s riding—”
“I get it,” she says, blushing furiously. “You don’t have to talk like that all the time.”
“This is the real world, filthy girl. You told me about their business relationships, about their family relationships, but you never once mentioned so-and-so is pegging such-and-such in the ass each night with an expensive wine bottle.”
“People do that?”
“People do everything, filthy girl.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And so are you, so is everyone.” I want to make her understand that this isn’t dirty, it isn’t shameful, it’s just human nature. People want to fuck because fucking feels good, and they do it in every different and weird way imaginable because it’s goddamn fun, and people are dirty little animals under all the layers of polite social breeding. Brice is no different, only her repression is deeper and more intense than most.
But I don’t find the words in time. A shadow detaches itself from the storefront next door and a man steps onto the sidewalk, drawing my attention away from Brice. He’s wearing a big puffer jacket and a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, and he’s got his hands in his pocket. His gaze catches mine and he’s not smiling.
I move Brice to the side as he approaches and put myself between her and him, my hand moving to my hip where I’ve got a compact 9mm pistol tucked into a holster under my jacket. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.
However, the man holds up his hands, indicating that he’s not here to try anything. “Carmine Scavo. I’d like a word. My employer sent me to find you and speak with you.”
He doesn’t need to say who his employer is, I can see it written all over his face.
“Panagos sent you here?”
The man nods. “My name’s Spiros—”
Anger gets the better of it. It always does. “I couldn’t give a single fuck who you are,” I snarl at him, rage driving me into a frenzy. “I should draw my weapon and gun you down right here and now, you worthless sack of flesh.”
Spiros’s eyes widen. He’s got heavy lids, dark hair, thin lips. Typical Greek bastard. “What the hell is wrong with you? I said I’m only here to talk.”
“What’s wrong with me?” I step forward, trembling with a barely restrained need to kill this fucker. “I’m here having dinner with my fiancée, and you track me down like some second-rate hitman and ambush us outside of the restaurant. You wonder what’s wrong with me?”
Spiros turns pale. “I only meant—”
“I know what you meant, you cheap fucking Greek gangster. You tell Stephen that if he wants to talk to me then he can make an appointment like a fucking man instead of sending a rat to do his work for him. Now fuck off back to your pathetic little family, you worthless writhing maggot.”