Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114936 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Sighing, I stomp into the sitting room and collapse onto the seat beside him. “Can I pour a drink before I die? I don’t usually drink, but I think I deserve it.”
He watches me closely, his fingers pressing together in a slight prayer. He has to be around my brother’s age, but there is something about him that is familiar.
I tilt my head, scanning his body. Nope. Not familiar. It’s just that same aura that The Brothers hold. You can tell a lot about a man who sits in silence and doesn’t need his words to frighten you. Men like Keaton.
“Sure,” he answers smoothly, as if he’s not in the apartment building of one of the most feared family organizations known to man. I wonder if he knows? Maybe not. Clearly, he was hired.
I make my way to the small alcohol table that’s pressed against the window walls that overlook the bright city. It’s slightly away from the pool and patio area. I love New York City. I think I always will.
Popping off the cap to the bottle of some aged whiskey that I can’t be fucked reading, I point to him. “How did you get in?” My lips wrap around the tip, and I have flashbacks of Keaton’s cock in my mouth. Goddammit. I stop talking and squeeze my eyes closed as the liquid leaves a trail of fire down my throat before settling at the center of my belly. “Let me guess… You’re part of Patience?”
He doesn’t answer, his eyes on mine.
I click my fingers together. “Or they hired you, didn’t they?” I dance my way back to my spot on the sofa.
Seconds pass before he leans forward, the corner of his mouth curling. “You think I’m here to kill you.”
I wave my hand. “Well, yes.” Crossing my leg over the other, I twirl my foot around as my skirt slips up my thigh. Shivers break out when I see his eyes fall to my exposed skin.
His tongue sneaks out, dampening his lip and leaving a gloss that glistens against the dim lighting. He’s borderline beautiful with a jaw curved all the right ways, nice and tight, and eyes that the longer I lose myself in them, the more I begin to question whether or not I want them to see me naked. I really should ignore the way they feel crawling over my body.
He looks to the left and I catch the shadows over the side of his jaw before he comes back to me. Pushing up from his seat, he takes calculated steps my way, and the closer he gets, the harder I find it to breathe. If I’m going to die, I’d rather do it on my terms.
He leans down, resting his fists on the cushion of the sofa, and I crawl backward until I’m looking up at him from below. How the fuck did I find myself on my back? “If you’re going to kill me, you’ll have to fuck me first.”
His lips widen, and he flashes me a bright smile, showing his straight teeth. “Done.” Then his lips crash onto mine, wrapping his arm around my back to lift me off the sofa to carry me upstairs. His lips move with mine, his tongue licking dominantly, paving the way like it knows the streets already. I squeeze my legs tighter around his waist as we fall to my bed.
He leans up and pulls my silk skirt up, flicking off the button to his jeans before removing his shirt from above his head.
Shit. His abs are tight. They may even be leaner than Kill’s.
He cages me in with each fist pillowed into the mattress on either side of my head and I can’t help myself anymore. I run my hand down his abs, batting my lashes up at him. “What?”
He digs his fingers into my thigh as he lifts it to sit over his hip. “Nothing. Just wondering why I always attract the crazy ones.” Then he slides inside my gap and I gasp, my head rolling back against the mattress. Oh God.
“Fuck,” he hisses over my ear, and it sends tingles down the crack of my spine. “So fucking tight.”
I lean up and catch his lip between my teeth, wrapping my legs around his waist as he pulls out and sinks back in. My nails dig into his tight back every time he retracts, and when he slams into me again, I feel him rub against the ache screaming to be released deep inside of me. I go through the motions of building, and then crashing, and then building again—only to crash.
He picks up the pace. Faster, harder, while kissing me against the side of my neck. This may be the stupidest thing I have ever done, but if I’m going to die, I’d rather go after being fucked. It takes away the pain of never seeing anyone again.