Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” I say, looking around to see where the hell Tit for Tat is.
“Lunch at Empire? Give me an hour?” I hear her shower come on.
“Yep. Meet you at the restaurant.” I hang up and see that I had a new text message come through while I was on it.
CUNT: Please call me. I need to talk to you.
Ignore.
A cocktail waitress dressed in a black halter top with black booty shorts walks by, carrying a tray of drinks. I step out and stop her. “Excuse me? Where’s Tit for Tat?”
“Walk past the poker tables and take a right. You can’t miss it,” she says, nodding toward the tables to my left.
I thank her and adjust my purse on my shoulder. My heels dig into the soft black carpet covered in what looks like gold confetti. This place is a dream—literally. People come here hoping to win big and return home a completely different person—a wealthy one.
I pay attention to the gold chandeliers hanging from the ceiling to avoid the fact that I woke up this morning and shaved my entire body after reading his text. Even though he’s already seen it, I wanted it to be as smooth as possible and smell amazing. I even did a conditioning treatment. Like hello? What the fuck am I doing? This is not how a woman acts over a fuck boy. But then I remind myself nothing is wrong with self-care, and my mind was back on track. Hygiene is important.
Passing the end of the poker tables, I turn right and see the red neon sign that reads Tit for Tat above the black tinted windows.
Bingo!
Reaching up, I fix my hair to frame my face and take in a deep breath, smoothing my shirt down. Then I walk over to the door. Opening it up, I have a smile on my face, but it drops off the moment I step inside and see the woman standing behind the desk.
“Alexa!” She swallows nervously.
What in the actual fuck? Rachel Myers stands before me in the flesh. The same girl I caught Mitch cheating on me with. She works for Cross? I knew this was too good to be true. Can’t a girl just find a good fuck without any drama?
She has a spike between her eyes and a hoop hanging from her nose. Her jet-black hair is up in a high ponytail, and she’s got several tattoos all over. I always wondered what he saw in her. I mean, I’m not saying she’s not pretty, but I’m just curious how he could want both me and her? We’re so different. “Uh …” She averts her eyes to the notebook in front of her. “Do you have an appointment?” she asks, flipping through the pages quickly.
“No. I’m here to see …”
“Alexa,” Cross says, coming from around the corner with a smile on his face. “What are you doing here?”
My eyes drop to his black combat boots. They run up his ripped jeans and black Kingdom T-shirt. He’s got the sleeves rolled up, showing off his tatted forearms.
“She doesn’t have an appointment,” Rachel growls, still looking for my name in the book.
“I thought that text this morning was an invitation,” I answer his previous question, ignoring hers. I said all I needed to say to her when I found her naked in my bed with Mitch.
Reaching up, he rubs his stubble and smiles at me. “It was.” Taking my hand, he pulls me down the hallway, both of us ignoring the bitch at the front desk.
I’ve got so many questions right now, but I shove them down for two reasons. One, they’re none of my business. And two, like Haven once said, I’m probably better off not knowing.
He opens a door at the end of the hall and pulls me inside. It only takes a second for us to get undressed before he’s fucking me on a tattoo chair.
_______________
HE’S ZIPPING UP his jeans while I lie here, cum dripping out of my cunt with my legs wide open, my skirt pulled up to my waist. I knew I wore this outfit for a reason. This is the kind of stuff you don’t learn about sex. When your body is spent and you’re so high from your orgasm—if you’re lucky—that you just don’t give a fuck what you look like.
Reaching over, he hands me a few tissues to clean myself. Once done, I sit up and drape my legs over the side of the chair.
“If a text gets me this kind of treatment, what will a morning phone call get me?” he asks, coming to stand between my legs. He places his hands on my bare thighs, and I know he can feel them still shake. “I could get used to this.” He leans forward, nuzzling my neck and kissing my skin.