Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Standing, she awkwardly holds the shirt out away from her body and looks around me at the door. “We’re not open yet,” she says before biting her lip.
“Why haven’t you spent the money I gave you?” I ask her, placing my hands in my pockets, so I don’t reach out and tear the fabric away and take her on the bar.
Not yet anyway.
Her eyes enlarge, and she shifts from foot to foot. “How do you know I haven’t?”
She’s adorable, and the anger that was burning bright in my veins moments before is now at a simmer.
“Your brother called my office. He found you with it.”
A beautiful pink tinge blossoms up her neck and over her cheeks.
Gulping, she looks down at her feet. “What exactly did he say?”
Shit not worth repeating. Shit that made her sound like a whore and me some kind of pimp. Fuck him.
“Look at me, Sofina,” I demand, and she inhales roughly when I say her name.
Her head tilts up to stare at me, her pupils expanding as she darts her gaze between my eyes and lips.
“Do I intimidate you?” I ask her, slipping my hand from my pockets and leaning them on the bar.
She shakes her head, dropping her hands from her wet shirt and breathing heavily.
“You excite me,” she admits. Honest and brave. Her words make my cock grow thick and heavy in my slacks.
She’s a fucking hot mess, her hair messily gathered on top of her head, wet soggy sweats and a T-shirt two sizes too big for her frame. And yet I’ve never been more attracted to a person in my life. A way that has less to do with her looks and more about how she makes me feel in her presence.
Aroused.
Protective.
Possessive and in control.
“You should take off those wet clothes before you get sick,” I rumble.
There’s silence, and then she reaches for the hem of her shirt and lifts it over her head, dropping it to the floor with a splat and staring at me as her chest heaves. Her full round tits in her bra jiggle in an enticing way.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Slipping my jacket off, I walk around the bar and step into her space. She’s frozen like a deer in headlights, and it excites me more than I like to admit.
Bringing my body up close behind hers, I relish the heat of her bare flesh burning into my shirt. I could take her right here, a big fuck you to her brother. But I’m not the asshole he thinks I am. I could have any woman I want. I don’t need to sign Sofina to get her in my bed or give her money. She would succumb to me willingly either way.
Draping my jacket over her shoulders, I lean down, stroking my fingers across her neck as I remove a stray strand to tuck behind her ear before I whisper, “I’ll see you soon. Spend the money, sweet Sofina.”
I’ve not stroked my own cock in a long time, but here I am like a rampant teenager tugging at the fucking thing like it’s going to produce a genie and give me three wishes.
Sofina.
Sofina.
Sofina.
After I left her, I came straight back to work and called Starla into my office to let her know I was ending things a little sooner than planned.
Our time together was over. She cried as I hugged her. Asked if I was sure. I gently told her it was me and not her. Cliché and a little tacky but necessary.
It’s the truth.
It’s a truth I warned her of in the beginning, which she understood and agreed to.
As long as we were in our relationship, I would take care of her. But that I would never date her long-term or marry her. I was very upfront. At the time, she was eager to comply with my rules. She was saving for school that I’ve now taken care of for her. She wanted the money and attention and praise. She wanted the mind-blowing sex.
And I gave it to her selfishly.
But I respect her too much to be fucking her all the while thinking of another.
It’s unfair.
My phone lights up mid stroke, interrupting my efforts. I growl, shoving my cock back in my slacks and snatching up the phone. It’s a picture message. Sofina is lying on a bed surrounded by money.
Fuck.
Two seconds later, a written message comes in.
Unknown Number: How do I know what my style is? You want me to spend all this money, but I don’t know that I can. It’s harder than you think.
I’m harder than she fucking thinks.
I add her name to the number and stroke my fingers over her image.
She’s wearing a tank top and cotton pajama shorts.
I check my watch to see it’s after nine. I should really head home, but instead, I hit call.