Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 95776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Even though it’s dark, I burn the image into my brain.
She’s so fucking perfect, it’s almost painful to look at her.
The only thing that could make this moment better is if she were mine.
I step closer, lowering my body to hers until my lips can settle against her mouth. The head of my throbbing cock lines up to her entrance. When I thrust my hips against her, she makes a small mewling noise deep in her throat.
I pull back enough to whisper, “I’m giving you fair warning. Your days of running from me are numbered.”
Her movements still.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She remains silent as her teeth sink into her lip.
Instead of pushing for an answer, I nip at the swollen flesh and tug it from her teeth, sucking the fullness into my mouth before releasing it.
“Are you going to make me keep chasing you?”
“Beck, I—”
I smack a kiss against her lips. That’s all I needed to know.
“Challenge accepted.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mia
I shovel a spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios into my mouth as the door to Alyssa’s bedroom swings open and she stumbles out. The sleek, sophisticated girl I picked up from the airport the other day is nowhere in sight. The transformation is almost impressive.
Alyssa’s blond hair sticks up from every angle. It wouldn’t surprise me if birds have nested in the disarrayed strands. Eyeliner and mascara are smudged under her eyes, giving her a raccoonish appearance.
The girl is one hot mess, which hopefully means she had an amazing time at her party last night. I wasn’t expecting Alyssa to show her face until at least noon. I left the club around two o’clock and promptly passed out on my bed. I have no idea when Alyssa made it back to the apartment.
“Hey,” my spoon pauses midair, “how are you feeling?” By the looks of her, I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that question.
“Stop shouting.” She winces before grabbing the sides of her head. “Please, I beg of you.”
“That good, hmm?” The way she was tossing back shots last night was enough to make me nauseous. I didn’t consume nearly the amount she did, and I was feeling it. How else do you explain my lapse in judgment?
Alyssa should probably thank her lucky stars she didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.
“Let me guess, you’re looking for a little hair of the dog that bit you?” I can’t resist teasing her. “I’m sure we have a bottle of tequila around here somewhere. Want me to get it?”
“God, no.” Her skin turns an unnatural greenish hue at the mention of alcohol. “I’m never drinking again.”
I snicker. Alyssa has never been a big drinker, but she likes to have a good time. I give it a week or two before she’s back on the horse again.
Once her color returns, she points to the kitchen. “I need massive amounts of Tylenol and Gatorade.
She staggers into the other room before returning with a humongous bottle of the orange sports drink. Her fingers fumble as she attempts to twist off the cap.
“Why did you let me drink so much,” she groans, successfully prying off the top and chugging a quarter of it. Then she presses her fingers against her mouth before releasing a loud belch.
“If memory serves, I told you several times to slow down, but you weren’t in the mood to listen. At one point, you called me a buzzkill.” When she remains silent, I ask, “Exactly how many shots did you have?”
“I lost count after eight.” She shakes her head and waves a hand at me. “Please, I can’t even think about that. It’ll make me sick. Never mind, I’m already sick.” She points to her room. “I’m going back to bed. Wake me up tomorrow. Or maybe the day after that. Hopefully, I’ll have bounced back by then.”
Alyssa staggers a couple of steps before swinging around to face me. With her free hand, she grabs her head as if she’s trying to hold it in place. “Wait a minute.” She raises a hand and massages her temple. “Were you busting a move on the dance floor with Beck or was that a tequila-induced dream?”
I wince at the memory and glance away guiltily before shoving another spoonful of cereal into my mouth. I was really hoping she wouldn’t remember that part of the evening.
If only it had stayed as innocent as dancing. My face heats as I recall the way Beck set me on the desk and spread me wide, licking me until I orgasmed.
When I fail to respond, she takes another step and jabs a finger at me. Her eyes lose some of their haziness. “Yeah,” she mutters, “you two were definitely dancing. His hands were all over you. And you, ya little hussy, were totally enjoying it.”
Oh God…
She’s not wrong. I can’t deny enjoying his hands—and mouth—on me.