Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62509 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“You wouldn’t be keen for a quick go, out here, would you?”
At first, I’m confused by his words. Then, as it sinks in, my mouth slowly opens in shock, and my eyes go wide. “Did you just proposition to sleep with me out… here?” I ask, shaking my head slowly.
“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly, as if it’s no issue.
“I don’t know who you think I am, but no. Thank you.” I turn to walk away.
“You told me you hate dresses. Yet, here you are in one to appease your father. I wonder what he would say if he knew his sweet Carla fucked me all night.”
Turning back to face him, I gasp.
He’s standing right behind me, so close I can see the flecks of color in his eyes. Staring at him directly, I try to give him my best ‘don’t you dare’ look.
He leans down, our lips only inches from each other. “I won’t if you kiss me right now.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“I don’t kid, Carla.” His breath tickles my face as he waits ever so close to me.
My father will be looking for me soon, I’ve been too long, so I need to go.
“A kiss, and I won’t tell him.”
Leaning in, my lips touch him, then I go to pull away. But before I can, he grips my hips, stopping me in place, then locks our lips yet again. He doesn’t let me get away with just a soft kiss, no, he presses his lips hard onto mine. So, I open my mouth, and his tongue slides right in. Too slow to stop him, or even wanting to stop him, I kiss him right back. His grip tightens as he holds me to him, while his tongue worships me.
Because that’s exactly what it feels like to be kissed by him.
Worshipped.
3
Whiskey
She pulls away. I knew there was only so far I could go. But she kissed me back, and I took all I could get from her.
Carla Star is nothing short of remarkable.
Pity she doesn’t know it.
Her hands touch her perfect, pink lips, which are now swollen, and I’ve smudged her lipstick. She tries to wipe at it with her fingers, but all she does is make it worse.
Those green eyes are as crystal clear as a perfectly flat lake, and they smash right into me.
“You can’t do that.”
“I did,” I say smugly. And I’d do it again if she didn’t stop backing away from me. Kissing her is something I enjoy, so why stop?
“I have to go.”
“Do you?”
Her eyebrows pinch together in some sort of questioning movement. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “That! Just that!” She turns back to the party happening behind the closed doors of the balcony, and then, with one last look, she walks away from me as fast as she can before I can grab hold of her again.
Walking out, I notice she’s already standing next to her father. Carla looks over her shoulder to where I am and spots me straight away. Her lips pucker, and I wonder what she’s thinking when she stares at me. I can make a solid winning bet that it’s not the same thing I am. I smile a sinister smile her way, which makes her look away.
“I heard you were here. Couldn’t believe it when I was told.” Taking my eyes from her, I turn to see Clinton standing next to me.
“Clinton. Still hanging around the likes of the rich and famous, I see.” The sarcasm that drips from my voice is more than evident by my tone.
“Oh, you know…” he puts a drink to his lips, looks around, then back to me, “… trying to win myself a wife.”
I say nothing and turn to look back to check on her. Carla’s now watching Clinton and I interacting.
“I almost had that one. Her father was keen for it as well.” Turning my head slightly, I see Clinton looking her way, his eyes hungry as he watches her. “Bet she’d be a whore in bed. All that ink with that red hair.” He whistles and it’s unattractive.
“She’s about to become my wife, so I’d watch your mouth if I were you.”
His eyes flick from her to me fast. “No way.”
“If you’ll excuse me…” I step away and then stop. Turning back and keeping my voice low, I say, “You’ll stay away from her, won’t you, Clinton?”
“Yes.” It’s one word, but I don’t believe it.
A man like Clinton, you’d be a fool to believe anything that comes from that filthy mouth.
Her eyes track me as I walk to the bar. I don’t look her way, but I can see her from the corner of my eye. I order a drink, wait for it to be made, then turn with it in hand. Those green eyes are firmly focused on me, even as her mother tries to pull her into the conversation she’s having with some socialite.