Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
It’s worse. And God help me, I want her even more.
Kendall swallows, her face glowing pink. Her eyes dart back towards the door, like she’s second guessing whatever bravado she worked up to walk in here. But slowly, those eyes swivel back to me.
“We need to talk.”
I shake my head, my jaw tight. “No, we don’t.”
She cocks her hip, her arms crossing just under her tits, which only makes them swell up so fucking perky and full in her tight tank top. And I want to scream at her that she’s dancing with fire here—that trying to be this flirty, and this tempting and teasing to a man like me, when he was supposed to be fucking her this very minute against a window looking over Central Park, is dangerous.
But I don’t. I just stare at her, drinking in every inch of her. Her bare feet with the pink toenails. The long, lithe, coltish legs. The tight little ass in those shorts. Her bare navel and temptingly smooth, flat little tummy. The curve of her hips, the swell of her tits, and that sassy, pouty mouth.
Fuck, I’m in trouble.
Because Kendall Shaw is a little minx. A tease. I never saw it before, but I damn well saw it on our video chats. I saw that somehow, the girl from down the street grew the fuck up. And fuck did she grow up. I want to say that I’ve never noticed before, but that’d be a lie. I’ve noticed, I’ve just squashed it down, and told myself it was wrong. I’ve pretended I didn’t notice how she grew curves—soft, perky little tits, a cute, round ass. Full, pouty lips that I can imagine wrapped so tight around my thick cock.
Goddamnit, I’m hard even now.
“Mr. Bane we—”
“Stop calling me that,” I growl, trying to fight this—trying to convince myself that this is horrible.
“Fine, Mr. B.”
My eyes lock with hers. “I think we’re past that, don’t you?”
Her lips curl, a feisty look crossing her face.
“Oh, so should I call you NYCDomXXX, then?” she spits.
My jaw tightens.
“Maybe you should, Cherry Pie.”
She blushes. Fuck that’s enticing.
“When the hell did you get a tattoo?” I mutter. “You just turned eighteen like four months ago.”
She purses her lips, sucking on her teeth.
“Three months and thirty days ago.”
And for a moment, there’s a flash of jealous rage. The idea of anyone putting their hands on her, that close to… I growl to myself.
…That close to her sweet little pussy.
“Why cherries?”
Kendall looks down, her face reddening as she shrugs.
“What, you just picked something off the wall?”
“Yes.”
My eyes narrow, and when she raises hers, she bites her lip.
Yeah, bullshit.
“Cherries mean innocence. Purity.”
I smirk, and she blushes as she smiles shyly.
“Look, I knew what I was going to do, and the tattoo was just… I don’t know. A way to remember my way back.”
“Back from selling your fucking virginity online, you mean?” I ask through clenched teeth.
Kendall purses her lips again.
“We need to talk about this,” she says quietly.
“No, we damn well don’t. In fact, we are never talking about this.”
Her brows knit.
“I need to tell you why I—”
“You really, really don’t.”
She glares at me.
“Mr. B—”
“Go to you damn room, Kendall.”
Her look hardens, and there’s a flash of fire in those gorgeous, wide eyes.
“No,” she snaps suddenly.
A shadow crosses my face, and before I know it, I’ve slammed my empty glass down on the wide windowsill, and I’m storming across the room towards her. She gasps, backing away from my wrath until her back is against the bedroom door. But I don’t stop, not until I’m looming right over her. My hands on either side of her pining her to the damn door. Our eyes blaze into each other, and fuck, there’s a thick heat to the air between us that almost crackles with the pent-up energy.
“Go. To. Your. Damn. Room,” I growl, my voice heavy and raw. Kendall’s panting, her eyes wide and locked on me, her lips slightly parted and still glistening with gloss.
“Why?”
“Because I said so,” I snap. She has to leave. She has to get away from me, before I grab her and make good on every fucking filthy promise I made to Cherry about what I’d be doing to her tonight.
“And?” she tosses back.
“And because if you don’t…”
I take a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut, my muscles clenching as I fight to stay in control.
“If I don’t what, Mr. B.”
“You know what,” I growl.
Fuck, I’m close to her. Too close. So close that I can smell the… fuck, I can smell the innocence on her. I can smell the flirty, fruity perfume she’s wearing—girlish, like she’s going to meet a boy for a burger and a shake after the varsity game, not a grown ass man at his five million-dollar Manhattan condo to get fucked. Not to go get her cherry plucked by a man more than twice her age with a nine-inch cock.