Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 142939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“You’re not only pretty, Bianca; you know that, don’t you? You are far more cunning than you give yourself credit for.”
“Does that mean I can have more wine?”
Fernando barks a laugh and fills my cup halfway up again.
I snag my glass and jump up from my seat. “Is there music here? Can we put some on?” I want to let loose for once. And not have to worry about every single move I make. Something I never got to do at home.
He stands, pulling out his phone. His fingers move across the screen. A giggle bubbles free from me. He glances up at me. “What?”
“It looks so small in your hand.” I laugh harder. “You’re so big.” I don’t know why this is so funny to me. I’m sure it has something to do with the wine. “I bet you could crush it with your bare hands. Get it, bear?” I lift my hands like a bear and growl.
Fernando stares at me, and I wonder if maybe I hurt his feelings. I rather love his giant bear hands. In fact, I want him to touch me with them. I start to apologize, but then he throws his head back and laughs. It’s deep, and the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m walking to him. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him down into a kiss. Fernando groans and deepens it. I try to rub myself against him, but he suddenly pulls back, his breathing heavy.
“You’ve been drinking.” See, how is he the Butcher? He’s so sweet and unwilling to take advantage which, while noble, doesn’t mean I don’t want one of those orgasms again.
“Okay, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do things we did before. I was sober and okay with them earlier,” I point out. This all sounds logical to me.
“That was before you knew who I was.”
“You’re not my Fernando?” I ask.
“I will only ever be your Fernando.”
“Good.” I smile up at him. “Now music me. I’m gonna dance.” I spin away from him in a twirl. A second later, music fills the air, and I dance.
For the first time in my life, at this moment, I feel free. It might be an illusion, and I know things are far from over, but for tonight, there is only my Fernando and me.
13
BUTCHER
She dances until she sways on her feet, her body falling asleep before her mind. I catch her and cradle her in my arms, her eyes barely open as she watches me carry her to our room.
I gently lay her in the bed.
I shouldn’t be here with her like this, not when she’s impaired and I can’t take my mind off the seductive way she moves. Her body is warm and soft–everything I’m not.
“You look so serious.” She slurs her words as she runs her fingers down my forearm. “Always so serious.”
I smirk and hook my fingers in the waistband of her pants and pull them down, then toss them aside. “You look drunk.”
She lifts her hips, clearly urging me to remove her panties, too. Fuck I want to. I want to yank them away and devour her pussy. It may be my first time, but I’m certain as all hell that I can find her clit and send her straight to the goddamn moon. Just the thought sends a stinger to my dick, which is desperately hard and aching with its own heartbeat.
“You need rest.” I grudgingly grab the sheet and blanket and pull it up to her chin.
She frowns and swats at my hands. “No. I want you.”
I swallow hard, those words doing things to me that I never could’ve imagined. I want you. No one has ever wanted me. I’m the last person anyone in this life ever wants to see. A hulking brute who can take a man’s head off with my bare hands–no, no one’s ever wanted anything to do with me. Just catching a glimpse of me would cause people to make the sign of the cross or grip their rosary or say a silent prayer to whatever deity they’d chosen. Not that it would save them if they were on my list. No one’s ever escaped me. No one ever will. Especially not the innocent bit of sweetness who’s staring up at me through heavy-lidded eyes.
“Serious again,” she mumbles and pulls my hand to her mouth, her tongue darting out and teasing my thumb.
I groan.
“That’s more like it.” She licks it, then pulls it into her mouth, her soft tongue licking down to my knuckle.
“Sweetness, don’t ….” I press my thumb down onto her tongue, and she hollows her cheeks, sucking and licking as my heart beats loudly enough for her to hear.
My cock demands I give her what she’s begging for, ram myself down her throat and come, coating her inside and out. But she’s drunk. And it doesn’t matter what she says she wants–if I take advantage of her now, she’d hate me for it later. And I’d hate myself, too. Nothing I do for work ever leaves even the slightest smudge on my conscience. It’s almost like ‘not giving a shit’ is my superpower. It doesn’t hurt that most of the men I hurt and kill have done far, far worse in their lifetimes. But that’s different.