Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 196(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
There’s a fucking radiance glowing around her. My heart drops to my toes then shoots up and practically out of the top of my head.
I reach up and touch the brim of my hat to be sure it’s still there.
I’m not sure what she’s doing here. She doesn’t look like she belongs on the dirt patch where she’s spinning and twirling. She belongs in heaven.
Or in my bed.
Her warm, caramel and vanilla hair is hanging loose, besides a couple strands pulled back from the front and secured in a green ribbon at the back of her head. I’ve never seen anything so fucking beautiful in my life.
Her blouse is fucking far too low on her chest though. Her tits nearly billowing out from the fabric. It makes me instantly hard and instantly enraged.
Because there’s a crowd of men looking at her, practically drooling like she’s the next turkey leg they are going to eat.
Over my dead body.
I wind through the crowd. I need to be closer to her. A growl catches in my throat as I pass by male onlookers, and the civilized part of me knows I can’t remove all of their eyes or render them unconscious, but the beast part of me disagrees.
Her neck is long and graceful as she pivots and sways to the music, smiling at the crowd with wide, shocking eyes like I’ve never seen, lips ruby red and full against her white teeth.
There’s a rush of heat through me, my pulse speeding into a pounding in my temples, and for some reason my hand goes straight to the leather snap where my gun is holstered at my hip.
Ready.
Because if anyone touches her, I think I’ll kill them.
Besides her way too low-cut top, she’s wearing a long, natural linen-colored skirt with flowers and some other lace or some shit decorating down the slit and around the hem. As she moves, her bare leg slips from the high-cut opening in the fabric.
Creamy, flawless skin shows through and I want to lick her from her toes all the way up until my mouth finds the sweet, wet heat of her cunt. My dick is pounding in time with the beat of my pulse.
I’ve never felt this sort of pleasure from looking at a woman. I’m ready to spill my cum in my pants and there’s no way I can hide my erection at this point. Let everyone look.
Let them talk.
And for whatever reason, I don’t give a shit.
She’s given me more pleasure in the last five seconds than I’ve ever experienced with any other woman. That missing something feels like it’s here. With her. Something besides my errant dick is growing huge and manic, ready to claim her for my own and drag her back to my cave.
What is going on, I’m not sure, but the tug in my gut is stronger than any logic my brain is trying to force feed me at the moment. Barely able to control my own movements, I keep moving toward her.
Three steps more and I’m at the front edge of the crowd as they toss coins into hats and boxes surrounding the performance area.
Other dancers are there but they are clearly not the main show. Costumed men and women stand behind the dancers, playing instruments, but from what I can tell, all eyes are on her.
She spins again, her leg flashing out for a glimpse of perfect feet, dirty from the ground, and all I want is to cut her clothes off, take her home and sink her down in the the most lush bubble bath to bathe her for hours.
Her blue-brown eyes catch mine, glowing, lit light candles in the darkness and as she spins closer her light floral scent catches the last of my restraint and drags it from me, my balls drawing tight, and I’m on the edge of losing it standing right here in front of a hundred or more people.
As she smiles, I imagine her beneath me. I almost feel her skin against mine. A groan rumbles from my chest and I nearly double over, wondering if she can see the lust in my eyes.
Of course she can. She sees lust in men’s eyes all day every day.
The tempo of the music speeds and she is spinning again, her arms above her head, hair flying out along with her skirt, and I see the beads and colored, braided threads around her ankles.
As she moves away, my gaze follows and I see a few older men and women standing at the edge of the stage, assessing the crowd. They look more like overseers than entertainers, and something inside of me turns cold.
Two of them glance my way, then lean in and whisper to one another, nodding in some sort of agreement before the woman next to them turns and disappears behind the heavy curtains that arch around the back of the ground-level performance area.