Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Her hand wrapped around my shaft and I bucked up.
Fuck, that was worth the wait.
Then she drew me even deeper, taking me into her throat, catching me off guard.
How the hell did she know how to do that?
I felt a sudden desire to kill the owner of whatever cock she’d been practicing on. Her tongue flicked the underside of my dickhead, fluttering, and I forgot all about my upcoming murder plans. I stiffened, my balls tight and ready to blow, but my brain was starting to question the whole situation.
What was wrong here?
Em sucked hard, humming deep in her throat as she bobbed faster and faster. Her other hand reached down between my legs, rolling my balls with her fingers as she sped up. I was close, so I reached down to touch her head, give her a warning.
Wait. Em’s hair wasn’t this short.
But her mouth was so goddamned hot and wet. Shit. I couldn’t think. I’d never dreamed she’d know so many tricks, and some small part of me started to consider murder again. My Em wasn’t so innocent anymore, and whoever taught her would answer—
I lost the thought as my load exploded, blowing the world apart. Holy shit, I needed that.
Wait. Those weren’t dream lips on my cock.
Adrenaline hit and my eyes opened.
“The fuck?” I demanded, looking down to find one of the carpet munchers from last night slowly licking my come off her lips. I jackknifed up and backhanded her, knocking her off the bed with a crash.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Fucking cunt!”
She clutched her cheek and looked up at me, eyes filling with tears.
“You didn’t like it?” she whispered, looking confused. Her pupils were tiny, tiny pinpricks and I saw tracks on her arm. I was lucky she’d sucked me off instead of stealing my wallet or stabbing me. Wait. No. Stealing the wallet would definitely be better …
I pulled that shit on a girl, they’d call me a fuckin’ rapist.
Goddamned junkie.
“I’m supposed to like some random stranger sneaking into my room and putting her mouth on my dick without asking?” I demanded. “You don’t fucking touch me without permission, bitch. Some guy did that to you, you’d be screaming rape. Christ.”
I swung my legs out of the bed. She fell backward, scuttling away from me like a crab. I rubbed a hand through my hair, trying to focus.
Shit, but Em had me all twisted up and making stupid mistakes. Men like me don’t sleep with the door unlocked. I didn’t normally sleep heavy, either—breaking into my room was an invitation to meet my gun, no apologies.
Yet this junkie not only got in, she invaded my dream about Em.
Fuck.
The bitch pushed to her feet and darted out of the room, which was a damned good thing. If I had to look at her again, I’d throw her through a fucking wall.
Then it hit me.
Since when did a surprise blow job piss me off?
My phone dinged somewhere in the covers. I dug through them, trying to find it. Was it even morning yet?
I found it and saw the time—six a.m. I’d been asleep for two whole hours before Princess Sucky Fucky came in to kiss me awake. I checked my messages, wondering who the hell would be texting me this early. Hell. Burke. His words were short and sweet.
BURKE: We have a situation. Call me
Wasn’t that just perfect—exactly what I needed to start my day. But there was a message from Em, too. Sent while I was downstairs drinking beer and watching porn with Clutch.
EM: Hey—thinking of you. Hope everything is okay. I’m sorry you had to go. Also sorry I had to finish by myself …
And there went my dick again—so much for the morning head. I pulled on my pants and took a quick piss across the hall. Then I dug out a burner phone and called Burke.
“What’s up?” I asked him, hoping to hell it wasn’t war with the Reapers. “This about Toke? Was that us?”
“Nope,” Burke said. “That’s a mystery hit. I wish we had that kind of pull up there. Not that I was upset to get the news … But we got a bigger problem. Someone took a couple potshots at Mason last night, at his old lady’s house.”
“Fuck,” I muttered. This was serious. “He okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine,” Burke said. “But it’s the tipping point—he’s done. Says he’s held on as long as he can, but that he wants to die with his family, not in the middle of a war.”
“Shit.” Mason stepping down meant that Burke—as VP—would take over as national president. But not an elected president. Throw in the fact that the club was divided about the Reaper truce and what direction we should be moving …
“I wonder if it’s an inside job,” I mused. “Puts you in a tough spot. Things are already weird with the Toke situation, Reapers are trigger happy. Now you have to take over right as we’re lookin’ at a war. No vote means you’re weak.”