Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 134663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“I think for the first time in your life, you haven’t a fucking clue what you’re doing,” he says in a tone laced with humor that makes me want to smash his fucking face in.
“I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m doing everything I can to ensure we get that marina and Adams in power. That’s what I’m fucking doing, and the woman is going to help make that happen. I don’t know what the fuck Adams was thinking, risking his campaign by dragging his whore around town with him.”
“How about what the fuck was he thinking trying to fob you off? Or is the woman trumping that? Like I said, I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“And how the hell is not fucking her gonna change that?”
“Shut the fuck up, Brad,” I grate, wondering the very same thing. It’s a game. One I can’t help playing with her. Women always want to fuck me. Whatever their reasons are, I couldn’t give a fuck. Money, power, protection. They get none of those things. Rose is going out of her way to prove that she doesn’t want to fuck me. And that turns me the fuck on. Like nothing else.
“She’s refusing you,” Brad says quietly, knowing my story, the only person alive who does. He knows I would never take a woman against her will.
“Her mouth is. Her body isn’t.”
“Be careful, Danny.” He knows the game I’m playing is dangerous. Women only make our hazardous world more deadly. For many reasons, least of all because they make men easy targets if they show a woman even a scrap of compassion. Just like Adams, and now he’s paying for it.
“She’s bait. That’s all,” I affirm, getting on with my session.
* * *
Over the next hour, I smash ten ton of shit out of the punching bag, sprint 10 kilometers, and push weights until I feel like myself again. I grab the towel and wipe over my wet chest as I’m walked back up to the penthouse by my men. When I get to my bedroom, I hear the shower running and smile to myself, pacing to the bathroom and entering the steam-filled space. But no matter how foggy the air is, I still see her. Fuck, do I see her.
That wasn’t a hitch of my breath I just felt. That was simply my heart rate trying to get back to normal after my mammoth workout. But I have to admit, the body currently under the spray is something of a vision. Wet. Firm. I rest my shoulder on the doorframe and watch as she swipes her hands through her wet hair. Her long waves conceal her bruise, but not those cute little dimples at the base of her spine. One on each side. Perfectly even. My eyes drift down, over her pert little arse to her legs—legs that go on for fucking days. Her face is pointed up to the spray, her eyes closed. She turns a fraction, revealing dark nipples that are soft under the warm water. And she’s humming. She’s humming like she could be happy. She’s fascinating me more every minute.
Reaching forward, she flips the shower off and proceeds to squeeze the excess water from her hair, pulling it over one shoulder. The urge to demand she wipes the screen of all the water drops to better my view is hard to push back.
She sees me. Stops humming. I expect her to lunge for a towel and cover herself. She doesn’t. She’s too distracted. I look down at my wet chest and smirk to myself. It seems I’m not the only one rapt.
Pushing myself off the doorframe, I collect a towel from the wall-hung warmer by the shower and wander to the vanity unit, resting my arse against it.
She steps out of the shower and faces me, bold and unabashed. And she just stands there. Wet and naked. I take my time, dragging my eyes over every inch of her tall, slender frame. She’s well groomed, the small patch of hair between her thighs a perfect dark strip. I didn’t expect anything less. On the outside, she’s perfection, yet I sense that on the inside she’s shattered. All this is a front, just like she’s fronting for Adams too. She’s young, beautiful. No wonder she can’t seem to control herself around me. I’m a stark contrast to that middle-aged, balding man she’s currently screwing.
After an age of staring me down, making her point, she eyes the stack of towels within her reach. She could grab any one of them, but she won’t. She’s going to prove another point. Her dainty feet pad across the marble floor toward me, carrying her graceful body as elegantly as I’ve come to expect, and my dick pulses with every step she takes until she stops in front of me. She doesn’t take the towel in my hands. She’s waiting for me to cover her. I keep my face straight and devoid of the amusement I’m feeling. She fucking hates me and desires me all at once. Good.