Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 107096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
The thick black beard couldn’t conceal the line of his jaw, hard and stubborn and magnificent. I could imagine him as some medieval village blacksmith, lifting his chin as he told the cruel tax collector that his people wouldn’t pay. Or the Detroit assembly line worker, standing up for his friends against a merciless boss.
The eyes that scowled down at me from beneath dark, brooding brows were brown, but not a safe, chocolate brown. They were heated and raw, closer to amber. Somewhere, deep under the earth, there was a mine where men toiled with pickaxes and sledgehammers, their work illuminated by waterfalls of bright orange, molten rock. They’d extract gemstones formed by nature grinding its continents together, stones that were the concentrated essence of the earth, staggeringly hard and blazing with the heat of the planet. That’s where he must have gotten his eyes.
I’d never seen a look of such determination, such single-minded intent. I was the enemy and he was going to take me down. But there was humanity there, too. He wasn’t just some robot following orders. He believed he was doing the right thing and it was so long since I’d seen that sort of moral core in anyone that it almost broke my heart.
And then, as he stared down at me, his eyes narrowed and burned, the heat melting the hardness, overpowering it, consuming his resolve like a forest fire. The air between us turned scalding hot and as his gaze ran down my body it felt like my jacket, my vest top, my jeans, even my underwear disintegrated into ash, leaving me naked, skin throbbing. God, I was getting turned on. I’d gotten so used to faking it, the lipsticked gasps and little moans that feed men’s egos, that I’d forgotten what real arousal felt like. This wasn’t just on my glossy, icy surface, reflecting a man’s desires back at him. This was deep inside, right where I lived, a sensation like a silk sheet fluttering and then twisting into a tight, tight rope. Was I blushing?!
The man leaned forward as if drawn by an invisible string, his lips parting, and I felt that tremor again. Only this time, I realized to my horror what it was.
It wasn’t just weakness. It was a longing to be weak. To be helpless.
That’s what finally snapped me out of my stupor. I swallowed and looked away. And with the spell broken, he glanced away, too, his face hardening. He’d only leaned an inch towards me but from the expression on his face, he was furious at even that loss of control. He squared his massive shoulders and straightened up, moving back from me. And I tried to ignore the traitorous tug of loss.
With a quick, shaky breath, I cinched everything down tight inside and forced myself back to cold, hard efficiency. He lusted after me. I could use that to get his guard down. As he took a pair of handcuffs from his belt, I made my voice singsong and light. “My safe word is Cincinnati.”
It worked better than I could have hoped. He went stock still, his face going crimson. I felt an unexpected rush of...something in my chest. Chyort, but he was adorable when he was embarrassed, like a big, clumsy bear.
“Kneel down,” he growled.
Just two words but it was enough to get a taste of his voice and I immediately wanted more. I was used to spies and politicians, men whose words were polished blades wrapped in silk. But there was no trickery here, no games. He just said what he wanted, in a voice as rough and raw as moonshine, his low growl resonating right through me and turning my core to liquid. There was a twang of something deeply country in his voice, bold and unapologetic: he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of him and that made it even hotter.
It felt like I split in two. The external me knew just what to do to make him uncomfortable. I glanced between his legs and let my voice rise, innocent and shocked. “So that’s what you want?”
But there was another me. An internal me. A me whose knees had gone shaky at that low growl, who longed to just sink to the polished wood floor and submit.
I pushed her viciously down inside.
“No! I—Kneel down!” snapped the man.
He was as distracted as he was going to get. “I think not,” I told him, and started moving towards him.
“Make it easy on yourself,” he insisted. “You got nowhere to run. Only way out of this room is through me.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” I told him. One good punch to the face would send him crashing to the floor and, as he went down, I’d slip past him. The living room and hallway seemed to be clear behind him, the other men still in the other rooms, so in a few seconds I’d be out of the apartment and racing down the stairs to the street. He’d be left with a sore jaw and a bruised ego. I almost felt bad for him.