Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 744(@200wpm)___ 595(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
“Want to know my deepest fantasy?” she teases.
“Sweets.” I shake my head, lowering my lips to her ear. “What makes you think I don’t already know?”
“What kind of man knows a woman wants to be laid across the bar top and doesn’t take pleasure in doing so?”
My eyes snap shut, images of Davis naked and sprawled across the wooden slab, not forty feet from us, her feet planted firmly against it, her pussy bare and at perfect height for me to bend and dive right in… with my tongue.
“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”
My head snaps up, and I glare. “Stop.”
She bites into her lip to keep from smiling. “Hey, you came over here. I was minding my own business.”
“What business do you have with a shaggy-haired guitar player named Bones?”
Davis laughs, shaking her head. “Got it, Dad. No flirting with the band members.”
My eyes narrow, and she crosses her heart like a brat. She knows what I mean.
No flirting with anyone.
“Behave. I mean it.”
The little girl salutes me, then spins back to the others. Her new friends.
My friends.
A sense of comfort washes over me, but I push it away.
Comfort does me no good, not when the princess has her own plans, ones I’ve still got to find a way to fight for a spot in.
The plan was to get my shit straight, and then drag her ass to me, but she came barreling back before that could happen.
Nothing I can do now but keep myself in check. Semi-check, anyway, if at all fucking possible.
I’m thinking it’s not.
I’ve already crossed the line, there’s no denying that, but for my own fucking sanity, I’ve got to remember where we stand, that this is a deal we made. Guiding her in these lessons she wants to learn, that I stupidly agreed to teach, was a fucked-up idea if I’ve ever heard one.
I wasn’t ready for her, yet here she fucking came, killing me when she asked for nothing more than the physical I can give.
She’s got a sweet tooth she’s looking to satisfy, and in her eyes, I’m candy to be consumed.
Nothing more.
That’s all a washed-out punk who mops puke for pennies is good for, right? As Memphis would laugh and joke about if he were here, as if that shit were funny.
It’s not, but I can’t say it isn’t true.
It makes no sense for a girl like her to want more from an asshole like me. I know that.
In the end, Jess is the type of dude she’ll choose.
Someone good-looking and going somewhere, successful and set for the future. A model man, the kind that goes to work and comes home in time for dinner, plays catch with his kid.
I eat beer nuts most nights, and some of those same nights, I never make it to bed.
Shit, I didn’t even have one of those until a few weeks ago, when she gave me one.
I’m just a fucking squatter under her roof, and eventually, she’ll ask me to leave, likely the second I sign off on the stupid fucking deal we made.
But until then, I’m the guy in control of who she gets close to, and right now, the only man I want her near is me.
I’ll worry about the problems I’m creating for myself later. For now, I just have to stop touching her.
Stop thinking about her naked and under me.
I need to take us back to before—me ignoring and denying, her playful but poised.
Not telling me she’s wet for me or sharing her fucking fantasies.
My chest rumbles, but I swallow past the budding desire.
This girl, swear to God, she’s going to kill me.
Or make me kill someone…
My eyes snap to the long-haired asshole who hopped off the stage, the band done for the night and the crowd thinning. Thinning and thinning, until I have a straight fucking line of sight to the beauty in the middle.
My beauty, who smiles at the grease ball stepping up to her, growing more comfortable around men by the day, thanks to my dumb ass.
His hand finds her lower back, his lips on her ear, and she squints, listening.
And then she laughs, the length of her neck staring back at me. Mocking me.
The neck I sucked and licked on just last night.
My marks are there, I saw them, searched for them this morning, when she thought I was asleep.
They’re faint, hidden by the tips of her hair and a little farther back, so not as easily spotted by the naked eye.
Next time, they’ll be square in the center, big and fucking bold.
Wait, no. No next time.
Grease Head’s hand lowers, sliding down the back of her dress, and she pulls her head back, meeting his eyes.
He smiles, touches her fucking hair, and Davis…
Davis looks to me.
My pulse pounds angrily, eagerly, my gaze locking on her lips, reading her words, but they’re not meant for me.