Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
His taste. Chocolate and mint. Just…amazing.
This taste is now committed to my memory. And one taste is not enough.
My mouth closes over his, placing soft kisses onto his surprisingly passive mouth. His tongue darts out, and for a moment, I forget who I’m with. Playfully pulling away, I smile when he growls, pulling me back into his body.
Thwack!
My ass throbs, and his mouth swallows my cry of surprise. No longer passive, his mouth devours mine, hungrily tasting me, coaxing my tongue to play with his.
My already wet core floods.
Reaching up between our bodies to cup his cheeks, he allows this only a moment before he gently removes my hands from him, pushing me away.
The air thick in the office, the only sound is of heavy breathing, Twitch stands suddenly, walking away from me, “I’ll call.”
And just like that, I’m dismissed.
I walk out of Falcon Plastics a little more informed and whole lot more anxious, because truthfully, I have no idea who I’m dealing with.
It’s around seven AM when my phone pings. Barely awake and sipping my coffee, I open it and read:
Unknown number: Saturday. Dress nice.
I stare at the message for a whole minute before I reply, knowing full well who sent it.
Me: Who is this?
Not ten seconds pass when I receive a response.
Unknown number: Lexi...
And I can almost hear the warning in his voice through the text that I chuckle while typing out my reply.
Me: Yes, TWITCH. I got it. Dress nice. Anything else?
This message must have dumbfounded him, because I don’t hear my phone ping for a whole five minutes.
Unknown number: No.
Smiling to myself, I quickly save the number into my contacts, move to the bathroom, and turn on the shower, trying not to think about the fact that the guy I’m crushing on is, in fact, a drug dealer.
The second I feel his eyes on me, a stupid smile breaks out on my face.
Taking my sushi and bottle of water from the counter of the sushi place in the food-court by my workplace over to one of the benches in the park across the street, I sit down and discreetly watch for him. With my sunglasses on and my phone out, everyone would be none the wiser as to what I’m really doing. When suddenly, my stomach dips.
He’s still watching you. Have you forgotten he’s a drug dealer? And he clearly needs anger management. What makes you think any part of this guy is right for you? He goes against everything you work for. Do not fuck up your life over some guy. He’s just a guy. A dangerous one, at that. Wake up!
I ponder this. I’ve worked so hard to be where I am right now. I wouldn’t do anything to put myself in a position for me to lose my job.
And as I say that, I know it’s a lie. Because here I am, still wanting to cavort with my stalker, even though he’s told me things that would surely get me fired. He’s not worth it. I know this. So, why am I—
Ping
Almost throwing my phone out of my hands, I jump in surprise and put a hand to my now-heaving chest.
Twitch: What’s wrong?
Looking down at the message, I think ‘you’ before I write a simple reply.
Me: I didn’t know you were still watching. You surprised me.
Almost immediately, the message tone sounds.
Twitch: You never were before.
My brow furrows at that.
Me: Well, you weren’t doing a good job at hiding it.
I wait and wait and wait. A few minutes pass and nothing comes. Placing my phone down, I sip at my bottle of water when the message tone sounds, and what he writes next makes my head silently implode.
Twitch: Maybe I wasn’t hiding at all.
Lifting my head, no longer caring if he sees me watching for him, my eyes dart left-to-right, searching for the phantom of a man.
But as per usual, he’s gone.
Throwing my phone down into my lap, I sit back on the bench and puff out a long breath.
I don’t care if it’ll be the death of me, I’m going to find out more about this strange man.
And in this case, I know patience is definitely a virtue.
Saturday night approaches quickly enough, and I look at myself in the mirror.
“Why do you always have to be Cleopatra? I wanted to be Cleopatra,” I say sulkily, looking at Nikki’s reflection as she sits on my bed applying peach-colored lip gloss to her pouty lips.
Not even looking up at me, she continues to smear color on and says gently, “Because Cleopatra is more my speed. You can’t be Cleopatra. She was all death to this person and death to that person, and you’d be all like how can we help these people?” I quietly laugh. She is kinda right. “No, babe. You’re not Cleopatra. You’re an angel. And a beautiful one at that.”