Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
She huffed and shook her head though a smile played across her lips. “You’re slick, Mr., uh…”
“Fin, short for Finlay, but I fucking hate the long version,” he said, then shuddered. “And drop the mister. Way too formal.”
“Yeah, you don’t seem the formal type, but I try not to judge books by their covers.”
Damn, he liked this woman. Too bad she was a fucking cop. But if all went according to plan, he’d at least get a few good orgasms out of the deal.
“So, what do you do, Fin?”
“Not gonna give me your name, huh?”
She pressed her lips together and shook her head. Coy. Flirty.
Score.
“Okay, I’m a tattoo artist. Got a shop not far from here. Actually, it’s only about a four-minute walk.”
“Authenticity?” she asked, naming his shop. His pride and joy.
“That’s the one. You been in?”
She hadn’t. He’d have remembered for sure. And while he rented chairs to three other artists, he rarely forgot a face and noted almost every person who walked through his door.
“No. But I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Got any ink?”
“Nope.”
Oh man, to get his hands on her virgin skin. Shit! Tattooing was his job. A career he’d worked his ass off to master, and he was a staunch professional but had always fantasized about laying the first ink on his woman’s skin. Something about the intimacy of it was erotic as fuck. Knowing her body in every way and being the one to mark it forever.
Damn sexy.
The fantasy had never turned into reality because, well, he’d never had nor wanted a long-term woman. Officer Baker sure as hell wouldn’t take that role in his life. Most likely, no woman would, but the idea of leaving his permanent signature on her skin tortured his already needy dick.
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Stop by anytime. I’ll give you the had-a-drink-together discount.” All this chit-chat was fun, but he wasn’t there to share shit about himself. Time to move the conversation to more productive ground. “What do you do?”
She pressed her lips together as she stared at him, probably gauging whether to tell him the truth. He wasn’t exactly the stereotypical picture of a model citizen. Would she tell him? Or would she make up some bullshit she thought he’d find more appealing?
She looked away, swallowed a long pull from her beer, then said. “I’m a cop.” Her spine stiffened.
So did his.
Christ, he hated cops. Even though he’d known, hearing her say it had him nearly recoiling in disgust. “No shit?”
“No shit.” A perfect blonde eyebrow rose. “That a problem?”
He nearly snorted. Yeah, it was a big fucking problem. He had a history with the cops he hated thinking about, but his prez had suffered far worse. Curly spent thirteen years behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit due to the corrupt police department Baker worked for. Curly had been straight-up framed by the cops for the horrific murder of a fucking child.
Monsters.
“Of course not,” he said, swallowing down what he really wanted to say. The words gave him indigestion. Finally, his dick wilted.
At least something worked. Though the goal here was to fuck her. He’d probably get hard again as soon as they stopped talking about her job.
“Good,” she said, though her voice had flattened.
Tracker needed to turn this around, or he’d never get her addicted to his dick and willing to share departmental secrets. And yes, he was that confident in his skills between the sheets.
Or against the wall.
On the floor.
Kitchen table.
His bike.
The shower.
Focus.
“That news gets a bad reaction sometimes?”
She shrugged. “Once or twice. But I only graduated from the police academy six months ago. I’m a brand spanking new baby cop.”
Could she not drop the word spank? Now all he could think of was her sexy ass with his pink handprint.
Tracker swallowed and shifted for the tenth time. So much for his dick softening. That lasted a whole thirty seconds. He was more than ready to perform his duty to his club by fucking her. But if her mood didn’t improve, it’d never happen. “So what’s got you sucking back beer on a Tuesday night?”
“Family shit.”
“Ahh.” He knew how that went. Though it’d been a few years since he’d spoken to any of his blood relations, he fully understood the way they could drag down a day. But he had no idea what to say next. Advice on how to handle family drama wasn’t his jam. So he took a sip of his beer to kill some time.
Suddenly, she set her drink down and spun on her stool until she faced him. “Can you make me come?”
Beer sloshed down his windpipe, causing him to cough. And cough. And cough until tears streamed from his eyes.
Her lips twitched.
The woman wanted to play. Little minx. Playing he could do. “How many times?” he asked once he had control of his airway.