Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“There is a Daddy kink, you know,” she continued.
“It’s not my kink.”
“Would you rather be with someone shy and virginal?”
“Virginal? No.”
“A doormat, then?”
Would he? One that didn’t give him any shit?
In truth, no, that sounded boring.
He was fucked.
He dropped his head and rubbed his forehead. He needed more coffee.
“Do you have a kink?”
He answered that unexpected question with, “Apparently, women who like to be difficult.”
Maybe it had been a bad idea to take her to breakfast.
Luckily, the great thing about diners was that the food came out lightning fast. So when the waitress returned, plunking down their plates, he hoped that was the end of that line of conversation.
He should’ve known better.
Cabrera held out her steak knife. “Daddy, will you cut my steak for me?”
“Don’t start,” he muttered with a shake of his head.
“Why, what are you going to do? Put me over your knee and spank me?”
“Stop.”
“What part is bothering you? Me calling you Daddy, or the part about spanking me?”
“Cabrera,” he growled.
“I actually prefer the second over the first.”
He glanced up from drowning his pancakes with syrup. “What?”
Using her knife, she was sawing at her steak and keeping her eyes on her plate, effectively avoiding his when she parroted, “What?”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.” She dragged a chunk of steak through runny egg yolk and then popped it into her mouth. She closed her eyes and mmm’d.
“You said…” He pulled in a breath. Between the spanking comment and her moaning over her meat, his dick twitched in his jeans.
What was wrong with him?
He needed to drop this conversation before he sat in this booth with a full-fledged hard-on, watching her lick her lips and close her eyes in ecstasy over her damn breakfast.
They were in a fucking diner, not a Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse. The steak couldn’t be as good as she was making it out to be. It probably came from an old, dried-up milk cow and was tough as leather.
“Wow, that hits the spot.” She took a sip of water, then grinned across the table at him. “Kind of like how your cock did.”
“Cabrera,” he growled. He was damn glad the tables and booths around them were empty at this time of morning.
She shrugged. “I’m just stating a fact. Here’s another: My feet are killing me from being on them all night. If it wasn’t too much effort to remove my boots, I’d put my poor sore feet in your lap and you could rub them for me.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t work in those boots,” he suggested. Why did the thought of massaging her feet not turn him off?
He wasn’t into feet.
Was he?
Why the fuck was she making him question his sexual preferences?
“What do you want me to wear? Slippers? I need to fit in.”
“You seem to be pulling it off with that outfit.”
“You think? I was told I’m not showing enough of my tits.”
Of course, that pulled his eyes down to her cleavage. “By who?”
“By anyone who had both a mouth hole and a dick. I heard it loud and often.”
“You won’t be showing more than that.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Stop.”
Her husky chuckle floated across the table. “Why?”
“You know why.”
“Because we had sex?”
“That’s one reason. Can we not talk about sex while we eat?”
“Is it distracting?”
“It’s not appropriate.”
“Appropriate?” burst from her a little too loudly. “From what I heard, that word isn’t even in your vocabulary.”
“Apparently, what you heard is wrong since I just used it.”
“And did it hurt for you to say it?”
He pointed his fork at her plate. “Eat.”
“Yes, D—”
Before she could finish, his automatic response was to throw a sausage link at her. It bounced off her chest and disappeared below the table.
Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide. “Did you just start a food fight?”
Goddamnit. “No.”
“So, your sausage just happened to launch itself across the table on its own?”
“It slipped off my fork.”
She wiped the sausage grease off the shiny spot on her skin above her V-neck. “This is war.”
“No it’s not.”
“It is.” She dropped her napkin to the table. “I take that move as the declaration of your intent.”
“Behave.”
Her eyebrows jerked up her forehead. “Behave? You’re telling me to behave? You just whipped a pork product at me.”
“I didn’t whip it.”
She shook her head. “You’re crazy—”
She was driving him to the edge of his sanity.
“—if you think I’m not going to retaliate.”
As he opened his mouth, a “How’s your breakfast?” had him snapping it back closed.
He reluctantly turned his attention from Cabrera to the waitress. “Delicious.”
“Can I get you two anything else?”
“Just the check, please,” he said quickly. They needed to get the hell out of there before things turned into a real battle.
“My father is struggling with arthritis. He accidentally dropped a sausage link on the floor. I’m so sorry for that.”
“Oh, no bother. Food gets dropped all the time. We’ll clean it up,” the waitress said, pulling her pad out of her apron and tearing off the check before placing it next to Crew’s plate. “I deal with a little arthritis myself. Try dipping them in warm paraffin wax. That helps me with the pain.”