Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23007 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
The match is a spirted one and the first half flies by. By the half, the Lions are up by six. There’s still a lot of game left to be played. I excuse myself to the loo. By the time I return, fish and chips have been brought in and I realize how freaking hungry I am. I douse my fish in malt vinegar and settle back in. Not ten minutes into the second half the whistle blows. There’s a scuffle down on the pitch. It’s madness so I can’t see who is involved. It looks like a fight. There’s an injury. I listen as the announcer calls out the injured player.
“Number twenty-nine, Logan Reynolds has been injured following a fight with Weasel number eighteen, Jack O’Bannon.” What the hell?
I can’t see much from here, but what I can see blood. A hell of a lot of blood. It’s pouring down his face, onto his jersey. He’s wiping handfuls of it on his white shorty shorts. Shite.
“You better get down there, Paysh,” Da says, practically pushing me from the chair.
“I’m going,” I say as the lift opens. I’m down on the first floor quickly and running for the locker room. I don’t know the protocol, but I really don’t care at this moment. I burst into the locker room, the door bouncing off the wall behind it extremely loudly. He’s standing with the team physician. They both look at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“What happened?” I demand. They look at each other, then back to me.
“The motherfucker, O’Bannon, insulted you,” Logan spits out. I’ve never seen him angry before. I’ve heard about it. His anger during games is legendary. They say it’s how he gets it done out on the pitch.
“What? Why does that matter?” I ask, wondering how that got us here. To this moment. My man covered in blood. I find that I don’t like this at all.
“He insulted you, so I fucking punched him. That’s were things took a wrong turn. We got to tussling and when I was down on the ground, some other fucker stomped on my damn hand.” He holds it up and three of fingers are already swollen, swollen.
“What did he say?” I ask, curious to know what he could have possibly said to cause all this.
“It’s not important.”
“Yes, it is.”
“He called you a horse-faced slag,” the doctor offers, shrugging when Logan gives him a death stare.
“Oh, well I’ve been called worse.”
“He was a fucking wanker. Logan did the right thing. It’s clearly not true, he was just jealous.”
“That will be all, Evan. I’ll have my fiancée take me to the hospital.”
“Right. I should get back out there. It was nice to meet you, Miss Winters.”
“You too, Evan,” I say. Evan leaves, closing the door behind him.
“Your nose is probably broken.”
“I know.” That’s it. That’s all he says. God, how I love this man.
“We should go. I’ve got a car outside.”
“I need to change.”
“I help you,” I say.
“You don’t need to,” he says, moving to stand in front of his locker.
“I know that I need to, I want to. Let me.”
“Alright,” he says, sighing.
I walk my fingers over his back as I walk around to stand in front of him.
“Thank you for defending my honor, so gallantly, milord.” I look up into his eyes and lick my lips. I know that he loves it when I do that. He’s told me a several times already.
“Fuck, duchess,” he groans.
“However shall I repay you for your kindness?” I ask, batting my eyelashes at him. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I really don’t. He’s hurt. Covered in rapidly drying blood and he’s filthy from the game, but I don’t care. I want him. I need him. Right here. Right now. No one has ever defended me or my honor like this and it’s… hot as hell.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he says, making me laugh.
“I do believe that I already have,” I say, dropping to my knees in front of him.
“Patience,” he warns, but I ignore him, reaching for his shorts. Something inside of me has broken. This is what I want. I wet my lips again. “You don’t have to do this.” He might be saying the words, but he does nothing to stop me. In seconds, his cock is out and in my hand. I’ve been dying to this all week, but he hasn’t let me. He’s made me come so many times with his mouth and with his hands. When it was my turn, he’s stopped me every time. He’s wanted to come inside of me, but now all bets are off.
He’s hard and ready for me. I wrap my hand around the base of him, and stroke. I kind of know what he likes from watching his jerk off before sliding into me. I don’t take my eyes off of him as I lower my head and wrap my lips around the head of cock while stroking him firmly. He groans and reaches for me, but stops short.