Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“You lived here long?”
I sip my beer and sit down next to him, knees facing in his direction. “In this apartment, or the city?”
“Both.”
I shrug. “City all my life, apartment only a few years.”
“You break up with a man?”
I hold his eyes. “No, I moved to get away from my family. I was renting an apartment off my parents. It didn’t go well.”
“Why not?”
“You ask a lot of questions...” I raise my brows.
He shrugs. “I want to know something, I ask it. Now, why not?”
Yeesh. Bossy. It’s kind of sexy.
Okay, it’s a lot sexy.
“My parents are assholes, to put it nicely. They have a shit load of money, and they weren’t the best growing up. I lived in an apartment of theirs for quite some time, but it was too much. They were always demanding to know where I was, what I was doing, who was there—it was draining. I’m not the picture they wanted for a daughter; with three brothers, they had high hopes for me. I didn’t fulfill them. I’m my own person, as I’m sure you know, and so I moved away.”
Boston nods, seemingly impressed. “Guessin’ you left a high lifestyle behind, too.”
I nod. “Yeah, all my inheritance, my allowances, I gave it all up. I work for my living now, but everything I earn is mine, and mine alone. That feels nice.”
“I bet,” Boston murmurs. “Takes a lot to find that strength.”
Nobody has ever praised me for my choice, well, nobody except Saskia. She hates my family, she knows what they’re like so she was behind me a hundred percent. She’s the only family I have now, really.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“You talk to your brothers?”
I shrug. “Here and there. They’re high and mighty, all older than me and working for my father in his business. They don’t agree with my actions, so I guess they don’t want a great deal to do with me.”
“Their loss.”
“Indeed.”
His eyes drop to my mouth, and he murmurs. “Enough chit chat. Time for me to fuck you.”
Well.
Okay.
~*~*~*~
CHANTELLE
For a moment, I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to do. Do I move forward, kiss him? Does he like being kissed? Seems a new trend that a lot of men don’t like it anymore. I guess they don’t have to put in a lot of effort; it’s so easy for them to get what they want. I might be very willing to give myself up to this hot biker, but I sure as hell know what I want.
Kissing is a must.
Like it, or not.
Boston’s hand moves up and he cups my cheek, surprising me. I don’t see him as the affectionate sort, hell, not even close. He seems like a hit it and leave kind of man, and why wouldn’t he be? He’s got the looks to do whatever the hell he wants. So, his thumb stroking over my skin and moving down the side of my face has most certainly thrown me off guard.
Also, I don’t think a man has ever touched me like that.
I’ve only had one long-term relationship, but it was only a few years, and he was mostly a dick. After that, I’ve been single and proud. I like being my own woman. But the touch of a man is definitely one you miss, and when Boston is touching me like I’m fine China, my heart awakens and bursts to life, thriving on the affection.
“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, without a doubt the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he murmurs, stopping his thumb at my lips and pulling my bottom lip down, almost as if he’s plumping it up.
But those words. Nicest anyone has ever said to me. I know it isn’t true—Boston has probably seen some of the best looking women out there—so to hear those words come out of his mouth makes me feel confident and sexy.
I know I’m beautiful.
But his words, they make my heart ache.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He leans forward, slowly, making my body hum with anticipation. His lips slowly inch toward mine, and it nearly kills me to hold still and wait. Finally, they brush against mine, soft at first, just a gentle glide of skin against skin, and then his hand slides around to the back of my head, and he kisses me.
For real.
Deep and slow.
Not hard, once again, surprising me.
His tongue connects with mine, little flitters of connection, but his lips, they devour me. The kiss is passionate and long, and he tastes so incredibly good. So good, I don’t know that I’ve curled my hands in his jacket until I pull away from the kiss on a pant.
“I need to fuck you,” he growls. “Now.”
I’m in full agreeance.
He reaches for the hem of my dress and, in seconds, pulls it up and over my head, tossing it to the side. I sit in front of him in a pair of red panties and a matching red bra. Both lacy. Both do wonderful things for my body. His eyes drop to my breasts and then slowly drag down over my stomach, over my thighs, right down to my toes and then back up again. He’s taking me in, and he looks like he’s fully appreciating it.