Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“They’re teenagers,” I said softly. “They might have all the essentials and look grown up, but I’ve seen those girls around town. They’re still in high school. The two right here,” I pointed at the pictures. “They’re in the eleventh grade. Oscar has a son who is a football player. He played varsity this year. Those girls were on the sidelines cheering for them.”
Neither man spoke for a long while, processing that news.
“The other option is reporting it as an anonymous tip.”
“And that tip will point directly toward me,” I told him honestly.
Wade’s eyes were hard and unyielding. “Sometimes you have to do shit you don’t want to do, girl.”
I looked away.
I knew better than most what he was talking about. I did a lot of shit I didn’t want to do.
Not that he’d know that.
But when I looked up at Rome, I knew that he knew what I’d be sacrificing if I told the senator I could no longer work for him.
“What do I do with the pictures?” I asked softly.
Wade held out his phone. “I’ll forward them to my email. You delete them. Having child pornography on your phone is a crime in itself.”
Kissing the dreams of driving and a car goodbye, because I knew once Wade reported my “anonymous” tip, things would blow up in my face, I proceeded to get drunk.
Really, really drunk.
And Rome let me.
Chapter 13
Not today, heifer.
-T-shirt
Rome
I woke up with my arm about to fall off, and my cock as hard as a rock.
At first, I wasn’t too sure where I was.
Then, when I opened my eyes and saw the mass of black hair spread out over my chest, and the head resting on my bicep, I remembered exactly where I was, as well as why the beautiful Izzy was currently sleeping on me.
After she’d shown me her pictures and asked me my advice, I’d suggested she take a shot to calm her nerves. That shot had turned into four margaritas, a shot of whiskey, two strawberry daiquiris, and a mojito.
When she hadn’t been able to find her house keys—she said in her haste she might’ve left them at the senator’s house—I’d taken her to my place.
From there, I’d laid her on my bed and had started to leave her…until she started to cry.
And I’d always been a sucker for a woman in tears.
After toeing off my shoes and shucking my shirt, I’d laid down and gathered her into my arms, listening to her cry about the car she wasn’t getting to buy now, as well as the fact that there were pieces of shit on this Earth that needed to be gelded.
After crying her little heart out, she’d fallen asleep, and I hadn’t been far behind.
Which led to now.
It was three o’clock in the morning, and I was now wide awake.
Why was I wide awake?
Because Izzy was practically laying on top of me, and my dick liked her softness pressed into it.
“Izzy,” I called softly, running my hand up and down her bare thigh, under the silky shorts she still had on.
It was so soft.
So. Fucking. Soft.
My hand practically spanned around her entire knee, and I found myself wanting to follow the same trail I’d taken by hand with my tongue.
I swallowed hard and started to push her off of me, but she tightened her arms around me.
“I was sleeping really well,” she muttered darkly. “Why are you waking me?”
I was never one to beat around the bush. Hesitation and indecision were not fine traits to have when you were a professional football player trying to protect your quarterback from having his teeth knocked in.
“You’re lying on top of me, and grinding against me, and making these noises with your mouth,” I told her. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time, and I’m not a saint. My dick is about to explode.”
She went up on a hand, which was planted in my chest, and stared at me—or at least I thought she stared at me. It was too fucking dark to know for sure without turning on a light.
These old walls that surrounded us didn’t allow anything to penetrate their depths—even the streetlights and security lights outside.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not moving an inch. “I didn’t mean to do those things.”
“You’re still on top of me,” I told her, needing her to get off, and fast.
“I never said I wanted you to be a saint.”
Her whispered reply had me stiffening beneath her.
I wasn’t sure if what I’d heard was acquiescence to do what I wanted to do, or her hazy reply because she was still sleepy and not firing on all cylinders.
Or hell, she could possibly still be drunk off her ass and in no shape to be making the decision that I think she might’ve just made.
Whatever the reason, I needed to go.