Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“Angel.” His hips pump twice. Hard. Pinning me roughly to the wall and grinding, turning my legs to jelly. “Let me. Let me.”
“I can’t.” It comes back to me, the reason I let him kiss me in the first place and the memory gives me the impetus to disengage from him, though he doesn’t like letting me go, not at all, his nostrils flaring ominously. I slide out from between Eric and the wall, righting my clothing with shaky hands. “I haven’t changed my mind.” Even as I say those words, my body is like, are you sure? Minds change! We like him down here! “Look…look at you, trying to sleep with me in a nightclub, ten minutes after we met. If that doesn’t prove you’re just another athlete used to getting anything he wants, nothing will.”
“I got carried away,” he pants, plowing all ten fingers through his hair, coming toward me. “Fuck, the way you taste, Greta. I need more of it. Please.”
“No.” Doesn’t matter that I want to. Doesn’t matter than I ache everywhere. Or that I’m rocked by the gritty sincerity in his tone. I’ve made myself a promise and I’m not going to break it, especially so quickly. There are good reasons that at twenty-one, I’ve trusted not a single man with my heart or body. I’m definitely not taking a chance on this basketball god who can have the world at his feet with a snap of his fingers. “It’s been nice knowing you.”
His fingers flex at his sides. “I lost my head. That…that never happens and I apologize. Come home with me. Give me the chance to do this right.”
I really come close to caving—and that scares me. After everything I’ve witnessed, after what I’ve been subjected to at the hands of my father, I should not be giving this man the time of day, yet I have to force out the words, “I’m not interested, Eric.”
He rakes his eyes over me. “Those stiff little nipples make you a liar.”
Flames steal up my cheeks. “I’m leaving. Good night.”
I turn on the toe of my sneaker and power walk toward the main club floor, but Eric—once again living up to his nickname as the Silent Assassin, blocks my exit before I even hear him move, his mouth moving in my hair. “You really think this is the last time we’ll meet, angel?”
It’s clear he believes the opposite.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, honestly, forcing myself not to lean into him.
“I’ll be seeing you real soon, Greta.”
I escape by the skin of my teeth, his promise ringing in my head all night.
Chapter Three
Eric
I didn’t sleep for a single minute last night.
No, I paced the edges of my new house, replaying that kiss. Her tiny gasps. Replaying every second of my short acquaintance with Greta, from the moment I saw her facing down a man twice her size like a badass lioness, to the way she swung from vulnerable to determined to stubborn in that back room. Rubbing her pussy in my lap one second, telling me goodbye the next.
Jesus, she’s got me so hot, I can’t think straight.
Beating myself off holds no appeal whatsoever. I’m rock hard, distended in my briefs, but I refuse to touch it. Next and last person to lay a finger on that cock is going to be Greta Welding, end of story.
She’s going to be mine.
But I’ve made a living out of reading my opponents and one thing is clear.
If I want her, I’ll have to play dirty.
I’m up against a brick wall when it comes to her past, whatever she’s witnessed as the daughter of a coach of a professional basketball team. Having been around a lot of drama, infidelity and lying myself over the last decade, I have an idea of what’s turned her off regarding athletes. Hell, it’s hard to blame her. But I’m not waiting around for my future wife to meet and marry a doctor or a fucking accountant. It’s going to be me. I’m going to give her everything she’s ever dreamed of. Now. Today. If I have to spend another night without her thighs wrapped around my hips, I’m going to buck my level-headed reputation and go ballistic.
Growing up poor in a backwater Louisiana town, I learned a lot about persistence. No one was going to hand me a career in sports. I had to get up earlier than everyone and practice twice as hard. When it came time for college, I had to send my highlight reel to scouts to bring them down south to recruit me. No one helped me and no one gave a crap. Everything I’ve ever gotten has been a battle. A fight. Maybe that’s why I don’t squander my wealth like my teammates. It’s too easy to blow through money. There’s no challenge in it.