Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
He palms my ass, squeezing me closer. “There’s so much I want to do with you—to you.”
“Better than what we just did?” I stroke the pad of my finger down his sweat-glistened chest.
“You have no idea.”
“Give me one,” I breathe.
He chuckles, kissing the top of my head. “Give me five minutes and I’ll show you one…or two.”
I look up at him, a giddy smile on my face.
His thumb travels down my cheek to my lips, outlining my mouth. “You’re so fucking sexy. You know that, right?” His eyes soften, his gaze now tender.
My joints loosen. A sated sigh wisps past my parted lips.
After being with Callan for the first time, I felt startlingly changed. Something inside of me flipped. I’d become almost numb to sex with Tyler. Not Callan. It’s so much more than two bodies feeling pleasure. Being with him awakens every part of me, feeds me, renews me. Swinging my leg over his waist, I nestle into him.
“Four minutes to go,” I murmur, my eyes closing.
CHAPTER 12
TIME’S UP
Cocooned in a duvet of heat, I stir awake, stretching my limbs like a cat. For the first time since the injury, my ribs don’t smart at the movement. A sated smile curls my lips. Patting the mattress, I sit up, listening for movement. Callan’s not in bed.
Silence greets me, beckoning me to push the covers away. Climbing from the bed, I drag my shirt over my head and hunt down my panties, only finding my pants crumpled by the end of the bed. I slip them on and lean over the railing overlooking the space below. Sunlight spills in from the windows, filling every inch of the downstairs and bleeding up the walls to the bedroom. The house is still. There’s no movement or sound down below.
“Callan?” I call out, waiting for his reply. Nothing.
A piece of paper on the coffee table catches my eye. It wasn’t there when we got in last night.
Taking the stairs, I rush over to the note, a swell of discomfort settling in my chest. Picking up the note, my eyes flit over the neatly scrawled words.
I didn’t want to wake you.
Gone back to the club for business.
There’s food in the fridge. Eat something.
I’ll be back soon.
Callan
Last night, he denied bringing me here because I’m not welcome at the club. Now, those demons in my head creep in from dark, insecure corners, whispering their disagreement. The sex seems more like it was a distraction now. He should have woken me.
Looking around the empty space, I pat my pockets for my phone, remembering I left it at the club on Callan’s bedside table. “Why didn’t you bring your damn phone?” Sighing, I look around the room, the urge to get out of here overwhelming.
Wandering into the kitchen, I try to distract myself and open cabinets, finding most of them empty apart from one with a couple glasses and plates inside.
My stomach growls, hunger pains twitching my insides.
I pull open the fridge and sift through some packaged meats, cheese, and spreads. Opening one of the packets, I take out a few slices of ham, roll them up, and stuff them all in my mouth, slamming the fridge closed. “There, I ate.”
Screw this.
Running up the stairs, I pull on my shoes and finger-brush my hair to try to tame it, then jog back down toward the front door. There’s a note pinned there.
You’re predictable.
Stay and rest.
He can boss me around in the bedroom, but he can go to hell if he thinks I’m going to be a good little girl hidden away because his daddy doesn’t like me.
I ball the note in my palm and drop it into the key bowl before yanking the door open. The sun bleeds over the tips of my shoes, and I pause, debating whether I should leave without knowing where I am. It didn’t take us that long to get here from the hospital. I could ask someone or flag a cab.
Decision made, I make sure the door is locked behind me and walk down the steps. Hedges border the sides of the house, offering privacy from all sides. Across the street, an old lady is raking leaves in her yard. It’s comical that Callan “Pain” Cox lives on a street where old ladies rake their yards. I wave when she notices me coming down his driveway. She scoots her glasses down her nose, eyeing me over the top of the hedges, and lifts a frail arm to wave back.
Looking left then right, I remember we came in from the right last night. There are a couple cars parked by the sidewalk. I narrow my gaze, noticing one is Kitty’s small SUV with Tim inside. “What the hell?” I walk toward it, and Tim ducks down. I knock my knuckles against the glass of his window. “Tim?”