Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Embarrassingly, even as I was wrapped around him, he continued doing the dishes, like a fly had just landed on his back, as opposed to an entire human. His whole body was stone-hard, warm, and delicious. “Go away!” I screeched into his ear. “You’re unwelcome here.”
“Anyone ever told you that you sound like the ignorant, angry townsfolk in a Disney movie?”
“Don’t patronize me.” I squeezed my fingers around his neck—which was the width of an ancient oak tree—grunting from the physical effort. “Leave,” I commanded.
When my pleas didn’t achieve the desired effect, I began poking at his eyes with my fingers.
Now that made him stop. Probably because I got his eyeball once or twice.
“Cut it out.” He turned off the tap and shoved the clean plate into the rack, trying to swat my hands away from his face. Soap bubbles landed on the tips of our noses and eyes. “What are you? Two?”
“Twenty-three.” And he was twenty-seven. Birthday was May sixteenth. I remembered because he had total Taurus vibes. He clasped my wrists, prying me away as he staggered back from the kitchen sink. Ha. Being a stage-five clinger had its advantages. He couldn’t get rid of me.
Row reversed all the way to the wall, where he plastered my back against it, prying my arms off. I clung tighter, octopusing around his body.
“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he warned solemnly.
“Newsflash, you already did.” I knotted my legs over his torso from behind. “When we had sex.”
“You asked me to have sex with you.” He slid us both down to the floor, where he leaned his back onto my body, then flipped himself over, so we were missionary style, him on top of me. “You came on to me.”
“I was drunk!” I lied, swinging my fists toward his face.
He dodged me effortlessly, hemming me in between those Thor arms and the floor. “No, you weren’t.” His lips thinned, and he looked genuinely pissed off now. “You didn’t have more than one drink in you that night. I know you drunk. I know you sober. I know you in every fucking state. Besides, I thought you didn’t want—what was it again?” He looked up, squinting as he tried to remember that night. “A broccoli-haired trust fund baby who makes experimental techno music to take your V-card.”
“I was young and impressionable.” I writhed beneath him, twisting and thrusting, our bodies touching everywhere. My heart hammered and not from fear for a change. “Why’d you listen to me?”
“Because you were a willing woman of legal age, and I was twenty-three with a pulse.”
I wormed to the right, attempting to roll under him, but he was quicker. He pinned me to the wooden planks by thrusting his nether region to trap my legs against the floor, and just like that, I came sex-to-sex with his massive erection. He bracketed me between his thighs and nailed my wrists together above my head. My nipples brushed his chest each time I panted.
My eyes narrowed. “Let me go.”
His gaze dropped to my lips. “Been trying to do that all afternoon, and you keep coming back.”
“Sounds about right,” I bit back. “It’s the only way I come with you.”
“Baby.” He released a slow, taunting smirk that made me melt into a puddle, constricting his grip on my wrists a smidge. “Just say the word and I’ll destroy your pussy and your chance of ever coming with any other man.”
Joke’s on you. No one other than my Magic Wand has ever made me come.
“I’m serious, Row. If you don’t let me go right now, I’m going to do something really awful.”
“Like what?” A spark of interest ignited in his eyes.
Ugh. Good question.
“Bite you?” I twisted my mouth uncertainly.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Litvin.”
“I’ll sing! You’ve never known pain until you hear me belt out ‘Hello’ by Adele. I try to hit all those high and low notes. I also do the echoes, for full effect.”
He was fighting a grin, and satisfaction filled my chest because I had almost made him smile and nothing made this man genuinely smile. Not even the supermodels he was flaunting all over the globe.
“Say the magic word, Dot, and I’ll set you free.”
“Plea—”
“Nah. Our magic word. The one we came up with together.”
Oh shit. He was doing that whole routine we’d used to do growing up. Whenever Dylan was busy and I was bored, I would wander into his room and rummage through his stuff. If he caught me—which he rarely did, because he was always out doing big, lovely Row things—we would grapple until he would inevitably press me against his bed or the floor and have me beg him for mercy. Only I hadn’t used the word please. I had used another word that used to make him laugh.
What the hell was the word? Think, Cal, think!