Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Panic sweeps through me. Once again, that thought that someone else could have come back here with her assaults me like a bullet to the chest.
Pulling her against me, her limbs are limp in my arms, her lips parted as fear ices my veins. “Daisy,” I hiss, realizing I don’t know her name.
I tell myself she’s just had too much to drink. She’ll sleep it off and wake up thirsty and craving a greasy burger, but seeing her in my arms, helpless and unconscious, has me as unsteady as I was that time Hailey dove into the swimming pool at her mother’s house and sank to the bottom.
This morsel of a girl is going to rip my heart out. That, I already know, and something else I know is I’d gladly let her, if it wasn’t for the promises I made to myself and my daughter.
“Daisy,” I say with more vigor this time, lowering her onto the bed on her side, tilting her head so that if that alcohol decides to turn her stomach inside out, she won’t choke.
I brush the backs of my fingers across her forehead, pushing a silky strand of that rich, coffee-colored hair behind her ear, cursing myself for buying her another drink.
God, I could take her right now. If I was a worse man, I’d strip her down to her birthday suit, spread her thick thighs and do as I please.
My fingers trail down. Over her temple, her jaw, traversing the side of her neck until I follow her collar bone to where her sternum begins.
Just a little lower and the billowing flesh of her breasts could be in my hand. God, I shouldn’t be here. I should have left her at the door. Or I could just beat off while she sleeps, leaving a surprise all over her tits and face to remember me by.
Jesus, the thought has me ready to nut right here.
A blip of anger smolders inside me. This isn’t fair. Meeting this girl, now, when my life is off limits to a relationship. What would have happened if she hadn’t passed out, and things…happened?
She’d expect more from me? Be a boyfriend and a good man? Fucking understand the nuances of a romantic relationship? I’m not even the drunk one, but I’m spinning and intoxicated. Confused and—
A smile crests her pink lips as her eyes flutter open, hazy but focused on me, and she says, “Guess you’re a gentleman after all. You could have done whatever you wanted with me…passed out.”
Jesus. This girl.
“You’re faking?” I grimace. She’s testing me for sure. “Don’t ever do that again, or I’ll turn you over and ripen that ass of yours.”
Her playful eyes turn shy and sad as she tugs a shoulder upward. “Yes, Sir. Big brothers are mean.”
Those words render me helpless and speechless.
Yes, Sir.
Big brother.
What the fuck is next? The tightness in my chest increases. I want to protect her with every inch of my being. Having her soft body against me, all the reasons this can’t happen blow away like ashes in the wind.
Lying next to me, she seems even smaller than before, but everywhere our bodies touch feels right.
Again, I mentally list all the reasons this can’t happen, but now, they don’t seem to matter.
If I walked away, I’d destroy this place on my way out. Flipping over all the little lace-covered tables and bloodying my knuckles on every mirror as I punched them, hating the sight of my own face.
As if she’s reading my mind, her hand comes to rest on my cheek. There’s a tightness in her face like she wants to smile, but something is holding it back.
“Just—” I grimace toward the ceiling, gathering the strength and courage to tell her I have to leave, but the trust in her eyes is throwing me for a loop. Her opulent tits are now spilling out of the top of her shirt. The snap that was holding them in must have popped when I caught her from fake-falling, and all I can think about is shoving my dick between those soft mounds, her mouth wide, tongue out as I buck my hips, straddling her body, delivering a creamy white shower all over her fucking face.
When her hand drifts south, fingers walking down my chest, over my clenched abs to stop on my belt buckle, I’m frozen in time.
“Are you faking, too?” she whisper-hisses, rubbing her knuckles down the obvious length of my arousal, and I’m one second from erupting in my pants.
I bolt up off the bed, the loss of her touch and her softness next to me sending me into a wave of dark grief, but there’s no way this can happen. It’s not just my no-women-until-my-daughter-is-grown-up vow, or my focus on the camp, but, Jesus, she’s half in the bag. I might not understand people, but I know the difference between right and wrong. No way I’m fucking a girl without her being present.