Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
There was a quick two-knuckle tap to the door—his signature knock—a few moments later, making me move across the floor to unlock the door.
Then there he was.
Looking a little rougher than usual. Unrested. Eyes a little red. Posture a little tight. Like he had something on his mind.
Didn’t we all?
I wanted to ask.
Which was exactly why I couldn’t.
“Didn’t expect this,” Slash said as I moved back to let him in.
“It was a last-minute decision,” I told him, kicking out of my shoes, then pulling off the light sweater I had on.
I had just shimmied my dress down over my bra when I looked up to find him watching me with his brows drawn low.
“What are you doing? Take your clothes off,” I demanded, pushing the dress down to my feet, then reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra.
I had just pulled off the cups and tossed my bra down when I felt him in front of me.
His big hands moved out, fingers snagging my chin, and yanking my head up, forcing me to face him.
“Hey,” he said, that deep voice of his rolling over me, coursing through my body like a shiver. “You good?” he asked.
Slash wasn’t exactly a chatty guy. He didn’t wax poetic. He didn’t say ten words when two would do.
But what Slash was, was observant. The man saw everything, whether he reacted to any of it or not. So I was sure he was seeing my desperation, my anxiousness.
What surprised me wasn’t that he observed it, but that he was bringing it up.
First, because this was casual. I’d been very firm about that. And, really, what guy wanted to fuck with a good, casual fuck-buddy situation?
Exactly.
None of them.
But, second, because Slash never really struck me as a guy who gave a shit if someone was off. I mean, yeah, I was sure he cared about his men in a sort of hands-off way. And I knew he reacted to a situation that required some measure of force or violence with ease.
But softer emotions?
No.
Nothing about Slash said he was a soft feelings kind of guy.
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to shrug, but knowing it looked like a weak, pathetic gesture.
“Babe, if there’s one fucking thing I know about women, it’s that they’re never fucking fine.”
“Does it matter if I’m actually fine or not?” I asked, my fragile walls just barely managing to stay in place. But if he didn’t drop it soon, it was going to get harder to reinforce them with each passing minute.
“Look, I’m not gonna pretend to know shit about your life. Or even you,” he added when I opened my mouth. “Or whatever this situation is that has you looking like you’re ready to jump out of your skin. So I’m not gonna fucking pester you about it.
“But I’m here. I got ears. They listen sometimes,” he said, giving me a smirk. “They could listen if you want someone to talk at. Or if you want someone to talk to, got a mouth that might spit some comforting or wise shit on occasion. Just offering. In case that’s actually what you need right now.
“If it’s not, if what you really want is just a distraction, I can be that too. Just telling you that there are options.”
I can’t tell you where the urge came from, but my forehead crashed into his chest then.
Not quite going in for a hug, as I was holding the rest of my body back. Maybe, in my stupid fucking head, that seemed like it was keeping things casual or something.
But my forehead pressed to his strong chest, and I closed my eyes really tight to pretend that I could feel his arms going around me, pulling me tight, holding onto me.
That was what I really wanted.
It was also something I would never let myself have.
So I took as much as I dared.
And Slash, clearly confused—because, well, why wouldn’t he be?—put his hand at the back of my neck over my hair, just a firm, reassuring pressure.
“I need a distraction,” I told him as the thoughts started to come pouring back in, making my damn eyes sting again.
“Okay,” Slash said, his hands finally moving, sliding down my bare back, making a shiver course through me before his hands sank into my ass, pulling me closer by it.
My own hands were moving then, pushing his leather cut off, then sliding up his tee.
His hands released me for long enough to discard his shirt.
His gaze was intense on mine as he looked down.
One of his hands went to my jaw, framing my face as his lips came down to mine.
But it wasn’t hard and hungry like I was used to, like it had always been.
It was just this side of, well, gentle.
Gentle.
That was not a word I ever thought I’d use to describe the hard-as-nails outlaw biker president.