Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Now is the time to say no.
That I do not want to be fucked by him.
He would stop if I asked.
I know he would.
I feel he would.
So, what do I do? I move down even farther until I’m rubbing myself on him. I see Keir watching my actions intently as he bites his lip, letting out a groan when I moan from the way his cock feels against me. He positions himself at my entrance and then slowly pushes in before lifting my body from the table.
I wrap my legs around his waist, and he starts walking back to his bedroom. With each and every step he takes, I grind myself into him, craving more friction, but it’s not enough. None of it is enough. I try to move more, but he has me locked in place.
I was so close.
So close before, until he removed his mouth, and now that his cock is in me, he’s stopped.
I’m about ready to groan loudly in frustration when he lays me back on the bed, pulls out of me, and goes to his closet, coming back with what looks like a wand.
He turns it on, and I hear a zapping sound as he reaches me. His other hand reaches down and touches between my legs then he motions to my nightgown. “Remove it.”
Somehow, I’ve sobered enough from being drunk off his mouth and shake my head.
Keir barks out a laugh and walks back to his closet. When he returns, his cock is no longer showing, and he doesn’t have that device in his hand.
“Figures,” is all he says as he leaves.
Dropping back onto the bed, I wonder what he was just about to do to me and why I now regret stopping him.
Chapter Thirteen
Keir
Blue balls.
This bitch is giving me blue balls.
What the fuck am I supposed to do?
“Did you just …” Joey trails off as he walks out to where I’m standing. He shakes his head. “You’re fucking her? Since when do you fuck someone you’re meant to kill?”
“I’ve done it before.”
Joey shakes his head again at my answer. “This is different, and you know it.”
I turn to face him. He doesn’t usually argue with me, but I can tell he wants to right now. His face is a light shade of red because he’s pissed.
“You want to fuck her too?” I ask, smiling. “Good luck to you. Not even I could get it in.” He doesn’t need to know that I did and I pulled out, but it was her who ended it.
“No, don’t try to change the subject.”
I hold my hand up at him, and he shuts up the minute I do.
“When are they coming?” I ask.
“Tomorrow. And then the following day, their wives.”
“I fucking hate these days.”
“It was your idea,” Joey points out, being the smartass he has become over the years.
I rub my hand down my jaw, noting the slight stubble that’s starting to grow back. I need to shave.
“Are you going to invite her?”
I don’t answer, instead, I walk into my room to find her asleep, curled into a ball.
I’ve had to kill women before and I didn’t think twice about it. I was raised to be a killer—to be as ruthless as humanly possible. I could walk down a street, pull my gun out and shoot you in the head, then sleep soundly that night.
Your death does not matter to me.
You do not matter to me.
The only thing that matters to me is my life.
And my job.
Neither would work without the other.
I left before she woke, and when I come back in later that afternoon to shower and change, she’s sitting on the bed, a plate of fruit in front of her, engrossed in her phone. My hand reaches for her leg, and I give it a tug. Eyes that are so vibrantly green stare back at me.
“Come wash my back.”
Without waiting for an answer, I walk to the bathroom. I don’t have to look back to know she’s following me because I know she will. Stripping off my clothes, I step into the shower and feel her come in after me. When I turn, I find her fully clothed under the water as it rains down on both of us. The perks of having a large fucking shower.
“You should wear your heels tonight,” I tell her, reaching for the soap and handing it to her.
“They’re rented, I have to send them back tomorrow.” Sailor moves in closer and stands behind me. Her soft hands caress my back as she works the soap over my skin. Her hands are slow, precise, as if she wants to make sure she cleans me thoroughly. “What do you do during the day?”
“This is my holiday house. I come out here once every month or so to catch up on work and relax.”