Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“You defeat your demons by facing them, thus why you became a pilot. I admire that courage.”
“Everyone else thought I was crazy for getting in a jet.”
“I would argue you’re not because you did.” She doesn’t give me time to reply. “My father died of a heart attack when I was quite young, too young to remember him. My mother also died in a car accident, but it wasn’t an accident.”
My spine stiffens. “Murdered?”
“Yes.”
“Because of Kurt?”
“Yes.”
“Did he make them pay?”
“He says he did,” she confirms.
“Then he did,” I assure her. “And then he raised you.”
“Yes. Yes, he did.”
We continue to talk throughout our meal. I barely taste the food though, for how much I want to taste her, and I don’t hold back after I pay the bill. We exit the restaurant with her hand in mine, me holding onto her when I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted to hold onto another woman. I just thought it wasn’t in my blood. It’s not like my mother and father had a shit relationship. He was just never home and she was always alone. It didn’t feel like something worth wanting. A fast fuck did the job. That’s not what I want with Ana.
We reach the truck and I don’t walk her to the passenger side of the vehicle. I take her with me to mine and turn her to face me, sliding my hand under her hair to her neck. “I can’t seem to help myself.”
I close my mouth over hers, kissing her in the kind of slow, sensual way you savor the finest of wines. I’m hot. I’m hard. I’m intensely aware of the soft sound of submission she makes, as if she too has caved to the inevitable between us, and cannot resist its lure, at least in the moment. She melts into me, her arms wrapping around me, and when I say, “I want to take you home, Ana. I know you just met me, but—”
“I don’t want to go home.”
I kiss her again, this time fast and hard, the heat in my blood and the thickness of my cock against my zipper pressing me to get her home and do so now. My thumb strokes her cheek and then I help her into the truck.
***
I live in a high-rise apartment I rented the day I returned to the city to stay.
Ana and I walk through the lobby to the elevators. Once we’re inside the empty car, I drag her to me and kiss her again, refusing to give her the time to feel or have second thoughts. I’m rewarded with another one of her sweet, sexy moans.
When our lips part, I say, “God, woman, I want my tongue all over your body.”
Her lips part in surprise and when I would kiss her again, she presses her fingers to my lips. “I’m pretty sure they have cameras in here.”
I capture her hand and remove it from my mouth. “Are you shy?”
“Private is more like it,” she replies. “Do with me what you might, if I let you, but it’s between you and me.”
I like this answer. It’s a line drawn in the sand and challenge—one I plan to rise to meet. The elevator dings and the doors begin to open.
“There are no cameras in the elevator,” I tell her. “There should be, but there absolutely is not. And for the record, I like privacy as well and I hope like hell you do let me.” I lace the fingers of one hand with hers and lead her out of the car, down the hallway, and to my apartment.
Once we’re inside, I take her coat, kissing her shoulder as I do. She shivers under my touch, which pleases me. This deadly angel has a delicate side I’m obsessed with discovering more of. When she wants to. That’s one of the hottest sides to Ana. It’s easy to see that she chooses when to be rough and tough and when to be a delicate, blossoming flower, and with who. The question is, what will she choose with me?
She enters the apartment, and sexual tension crackles in the air, but she works to cloak it in small talk, raving about the views of the city, while I flip on the fireplace, and pour her another glass of wine. I join her on the oversized chair near the fireplace and when I would take her wine glass from her, she holds up a finger. “Just one more sip.”
Instead, she downs the entire glass. “All done.”
“Liquid courage?”
She hands me her glass, which I set on the coffee table. “Courage and nerves are two different things,” she says, not really answering my question. I’ve had courage bred into me and I’ve learned nerves are not always a bad thing.”
“Nerves tell you you’re present in the moment,” I say, repeating what Kurt apparently taught us both.