Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 71131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“Sorry,” I rasp.
“I’m not,” he says quickly, then turns to me, eyes narrowed to slits, expression unreadable. I can’t look away, and before I can say anything more, King, my husband, grabs the back of my neck and jerks me close. His mouth slams onto mine.
I gasp in surprise.
His tongue takes full advantage, shoving past my lips and into my mouth, demanding, pure… perfect.
A horn honks.
He pulls back, his eyes blazing now. His mouth twists into a smirk. “Still not sorry.”
I touch my swollen lips, hand shaking as I respond, “Same.”
Because I’m not.
I should be.
I’m not.
And that’s the problem.
He’s dangerous… to more than just my life or the life of my family—he’s dangerous to a heart that claims it’s already taken.
I keep it to myself.
I keep it all to myself.
Even as my heart skips a beat or two—even if for a few seconds, I forget about Roman and actually look forward to a night in King’s arms.
Chapter Thirteen
“Thou wast that all to me, love. For which my soul did pine.” —Edgar Allan Poe
King
The drive is long and torturous.
I can still feel her hand on my cock.
Taste her tongue in my mouth.
And feel the heat of her body pressed up against mine.
The drive is around two hours and forty minutes of pure hell. I know because I checked the dash every few minutes only to see that three minutes had gone by with fucking Shawn Mendez music playing in the background.
I’m still confused as to why I didn’t change the station to something that would make me angry instead of wanting to burst into tears about long-lost love and all that shit.
Eventually, Del tucks her legs under her and lays her head on her arm, falling asleep and putting me somewhat out of my misery—that is until she starts to snore.
My mouth forms a grin when the snore gets louder, and rather than turn up the music, I turn it down like my soul needs normalcy and more of her deep breathing. It was better than Shawn’s soft voice, even if it makes me want to plug her nose just to see if she’ll jolt awake and react to me, touch me again, smack me in the dick.
I pull up to the castle-like bed and breakfast and breathe a sigh of relief as I cut the engine and gently put a hand on her shoulder.
She lurches, blinks her eyes open then wipes her mouth.
“Still have some drool, like right there,” I tease, rubbing my thumb across her cheek with a wink.
She glares. “That’s rude.”
“So is snoring for ninety minutes of the nearly three-hour drive, but I’m not complaining.” Hell, she can probably torture me for just as long, and my body would think it was foreplay or something.
What a day!
Her eyes zero in on my mouth. “Are we here?”
“No, we’re stopped in the middle of the road after hitting a cow.” I smile. She doesn’t. Tough crowd. “Yeah, we’re here.”
“Are you going to be this annoying all night?” she mumbles, stretching her arms above her head in a way that I’m sure was supposed to ease the tiredness in her body, but all I can do is keep staring at the way her breasts strain against her dress and how gorgeous she looks even when she doesn’t realize it.
I bark out a laugh. “Someone’s grumpy after a nap. Isn’t that supposed to help toddlers feel better? Weird how it doesn’t work on a grown woman.”
Her scowl deepens. I love how her anger ignites me just as much as her smile. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
And just like that, my teasing mood is gone. I look away as tension thickens in the car. Thank God someone comes to the car to open the door.
I get out and hand over my key fob. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Campisi.” The guy can’t be any older than eighteen and looks ready to shit his pants. He’s pale and sweating like he just ran a marathon. Good to know Mom called ahead to make preparations. God knows she’s more terrifying than Dad, even on his worst days.
I smile, pat the guy on the shoulder, and check out his name tag. Of course, his name is Shawn.
My life, ladies and gentleman.
“Take care of the car, Shawn.” I pat hard, then squeeze. “Crash it, and I crash you.”
He gulps.
I smile and then reach into my pocket and grab my wallet; I pull out two crisp hundred dollar bills and press them against his chest.
Now he really looks ready to puke.
“For not crashing.” I smack him twice lightly on the cheek and walk around the car.
“Sir!” Shawn yells. “Yes, sir! I’ll take great care of your car!”
“I know you will,” I say as I stop next to Del. Because he knows I’ll slit his throat if he doesn’t.
He gets into the car after another valet grabs our bags, and literally starts to pull away slower than an elderly person on a walk.