Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
He smoothed his calloused hand down my spine, and the roughness of his skin made tingles follow in his hand’s wake.
“I don’t want you to get hurt again,” he said, voice weak. “I don’t think I can handle that.”
I bit his collarbone.
Hard.
He yelped and pulled away, his hand going to the bite mark as he smoothed away the hurt.
“What the fuck was that?” he cried.
I rolled my eyes and pulled myself off of him.
I nearly moaned at the feeling of emptiness.
“Get dressed, loser. You need to go to work,” I told him. “It’s time to get out of this house like you planned. Go catch that bitch Ignacia and make her fucking pay for what she did to those women. And try not to get arrested when you do.”
He laughed as he shook his head.
I looked down at the jizz I’d just smeared all over the sheets and wrinkled my nose. “I, obviously, have laundry to do now.”
He snorted. “I’ll put it in the wash before I leave.”
I rolled my eyes and pointed at his jeans where his phone had been going off for the last five minutes. “Looks like you might not have time for that. Now, go before I decide to bite you again.”
He rolled backward and pulled his phone out of his pocket, silencing his alarm that said ‘leave’ so he’d get out of the apartment in time.
“I want to go look at houses,” he said softly, his eyes coming to me as he walked to the bathroom to clean himself up.
I stripped the bed while he was in there, because my bathroom was not conducive with two people being in there unless one of them was in the shower.
When he came back I said, “What for?”
He pulled his shoes on and then went for his keys that he’d left beside the kitchen counter yesterday when he’d come inside.
I followed him with my much slower gait, sheet in hand.
He scowled at me when he saw me walking without my crutches.
“They said I could!” I growled.
He rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”
I tossed the sheets into the washer, turned it on, then loaded the little hopper with detergent before turning back to find him heading toward me.
I stopped when he wrapped his arms around me. “It’s not that I didn’t want to do that.” I slumped in his arms at his words. “It’s just that I’m terrified of hurting you. The doctor said we didn’t want a setback, so I kept my hands off of you.”
“He said he didn’t want a setback when I first came home. That’s why he told us to keep it under control. That was weeks ago, though. I’m okay,” I promised.
He pulled back and smoothed his hand over my head, brushing away a few stray locks of my hair before saying, “I love you, my stubborn girl.”
I melted even more for him. “And I love you, my overprotective butthead.”
He snorted before dropping a kiss onto my lips. “I’ll see you later.”
Then he was striding out the door and locking the deadbolt with his key before walking out of the building completely.
I waited, listening for the sound of his motorcycle starting up, and then looked over at the couch where his cut perched over the arm precariously.
Rolling my eyes, I walked toward it, picked it up, and then walked to the window that overlooked the alley.
He was swinging his leg over his bike, muttering to himself.
He’d just reached the heavy duty metal door when I called his name.
“Trick.”
He looked up, saw me holding his cut out the window, and then grinned.
He caught it the moment that I dropped it and then shrugged it on.
These boys.
They were still learning to be a ‘motorcycle club’ or ‘MC.’ I’d never, not ever, seen a bunch of bikers so forgetful when it came to their cuts. Hell, more often than not one of them would forget that they were supposed to have it on.
It was getting quite comical at this point, seeing who was going to make the worst ‘biker’ that day.
So far, it wasn’t Trick at least.
That honor belonged to Hunt since he so rarely left his house.
When he did leave, it was to have to make a return trip for the cut.
Let’s just say that Hunt was not confrontational like the other guys. He was not a loner by nature, and more importantly, despite how sexy and badass he looked, even with the glasses on, he was not a fighter.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight, that I was sure, it was that he didn’t want to have to punch someone or hurt them physically in any way. He just wasn’t that type of guy.
But if you pissed him off?
Yeah, I’d seen him wipe out a man’s bank account last week while sitting on the bed beside me. All because someone had made one of those grocery baggers at the supermarket feel inferior.