Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 86823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I felt his hand clamp itself around my wrist. He spun me around, slamming me against his chest as he yanked me against him. Without any warning, he shoved me against the wall, his body pressing against mine as he took my lips in a hard, savage kiss.
Fuck me; I couldn't help myself.
I moaned and kissed him back. Fuck, he had lips that felt like sin, but I was already on the road to hell. He released a low groan, his hands gripping my waist, his fingers digging into my skin. I slid my arms around his neck, lacing my fingers in his hair. God, the strands were so soft and silky.
His arms wrapped around me, dragging me against his tall, hard frame. I moaned at the feeling, opening my lips beneath his, following his lead as he coaxed them apart. The band of his arms tightened around me, locking me to him. If I wanted to move—and I didn't—I couldn't have. His right hand slid up my back, and he tangled his fingers in my hair, holding my lips captive against his.
His cock was rock hard against my belly. I pushed my body more against his, if it were even possible, every nerve ending in my body burning for him. He slowly parted our lips and reached up to rub the pad of his thumb over my now swollen bottom lip.
"You're good at this," he rasped. My heart was pounding hard in my chest, and there was a low heat in my stomach that made me want to fucking jump him. "I bet you've spread those legs more times than I can count."
I blinked. Was that what he fucking got out of kissing me—that I was just some low-life biker whore, a fucking Sweetbutt?
Before I even realized what I was doing, I slapped the fuck out of him. He recoiled immediately, anger flaring in his eyes. "You're an asshole,” I quietly seethed. "And you can go fuck yourself."
I stormed out of the kitchen and back to the living room where I plopped myself down onto the couch, more pissed than ever—and drinkless. Travis didn't bother me for the rest of the night, which was definitely for his own good. I might have castrated the asshole if he decided to come anywhere near me.
He had basically accused me of being a fucking whore, and I was anything but. I was still a fucking virgin.
What a fucking asshole.
3
I was stiff, uncomfortable, and cold. I had fallen asleep on the couch, which was probably why I was so uncomfortable. With a long, deep groan, I sat up. My head was pounding. I should have been used to the raging hangovers, but I didn’t think the feeling of something hammering in your head was something you easily got used to—if ever.
Just how damn much did I drink last night?
I looked at the floor around me and sighed. No wonder I had a hangover. From the looks of all the bottles, it was a damn miracle that I didn't give myself alcohol poisoning.
I rubbed my hands over my face, deciding on food, pain medicine, and a shower—not necessarily in that order, but I definitely needed all three.
I stumbled out of the room, groaning at the bright light that lit the rest of the house. I walked to the kitchen where I found Grace cooking breakfast. Thank God for small favors. She would be the one to ask where to find some pain medication.
"Tylenol," I grumbled, barely able to think past the pounding inside of my skull. "Please tell me you have some Tylenol."
She took one look at me and sighed. It must have been obvious that I had a hangover. It made me wonder if she had seen the living room yet. Without a word, she walked over to the fridge and pulled down a basket with a ton of medicine bottles in it. She opened one up and handed me two pills. I didn’t even bother asking if the medication she was giving me was legal or not.
I was desperate.
Moving on autopilot, I grabbed a glass and filled it up with water, quickly swallowing down the pills, wanting so badly to rid myself of this shit.
"If you're going to drink in my house, have the decency to clean up after yourself," Travis's voice boomed from the doorway of the kitchen. I was sure it probably wasn’t as loud as it seemed, but it sounded like he was yelling right in my ear with the pounding going on in my head.
"Shut up," I grumbled at him. "I don't have the patience for your shit this morning, alright? Fuck off."
"Well, maybe you shouldn't drink so damn much,” he retorted. I narrowed my eyes at him. “If you keep on, you'll find yourself six feet under in a graveyard somewhere because you drank too much and killed yourself."