Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
He has eyes as black as the night, soft olive skin, thick dark hair and a jagged scar on his face. He’s dangerous looking. The kind of man you don’t really want to take on. For anything. At all. Ever. And the guy standing next to him. Holy mother. He’s just as scary. His eyes, they’re more brown than black, but he has the same olive skin, the same dark hair only his is cropped shorter, and he’s covered in tattoos, so much so I can see them crawling up his neck. Hot. Hot. Hot.
“Hey,” I wave, not able to tear my eyes from Slater, or his brother.
“Jesus,” Saskia murmurs. “Where do you find these people? And who is the other delicious piece?”
Mason shoots her a glare, and I giggle. “To be fair, Mason, you just brought some seriously fine man candy into the house with two drunk girls, we’re going to ask.”
Dark mysterious brother, who has not yet been introduced, grins. I grin back.
Boston shoots me a look that about burns my damned soul it’s so frustrated and hot.
“That’s Slater’s brother, Lincoln Knight. Not part of the club. But helpin’ us out right now,” Malakai says.
“Damn,” I breathe.
“Nice to meet you,” Lincoln says, nodding.
“I just got a little wet.”
I slam a hand over my mouth. I was thinking that, I certainly was not planning on saying it out loud. I make an embarrassed noise, and Saskia starts laughing, hysterically. Malakai holds in a wheeze and Maverick chuckles. Nobody else does anything, excepts stares at me.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” Lincoln murmurs, and I don’t miss his eyes going to my boobs.
Oh, boy.
“Okay,” Mason says, clapping his hands together. “You two have had enough, yeah? Chantelle, you can stay the night.”
I put a hand up to protest, but Mason’s look gives no room for argument. I salute him, instead. “I’m just going to stumble, rather shamefully, out to my car and get my purse.”
I stand, straightening my clothes, and don’t miss more than one set of eyes trail in on my short shorts. I flush a little and stumble past the men and out the front door. As soon as the cool air hits my face, the alcohol hits my head. Hard. I sway over to my car and open the door, leaning in and fumbling around until I find my purse, then I pull it out and stand, air whooshing from my lungs because damn, I’m drunk.
A hard body presses against my back, and I squeak, trying to spin around, but I’m kind of squashed in the door space. Warm breath tickles my ear, and Boston’s very clear voice murmurs, “Care to tell me what that was back there?”
Oh, boy.
My knees wobble.
“Hello, Boston, how are you?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Chantelle.”
I snort. Tough guy act isn’t going to work on me today. Or ever, for that matter. Big sexy biker doesn’t scare me. Turns me on a great deal but doesn’t scare me.
“Which part, I’ll need clarification.”
“Saw how you were lookin’ at Lincoln.”
I won’t lie, a little something special swells inside me. Maybe satisfaction? Because, well, good. He was the one who played the game and got himself all confused over two women. Not me. I was happy. I was content on being whatever he needed me to be. Except a fuck buddy, of course.
“And?”
“Panties. Wet.”
Oh. Someone didn’t like that comment.
I shrug, and I can feel his cock against my ass, hard and aching. Good lord, I want to back myself into it and just let it slide into me. My panties are most definitely wet now. I’m not telling him that, though. Stuff him.
“I’m a speaker of the truth, the man is scorching. I don’t know what the problem is?”
A low growl in my ear.
Thrilling.
“The fuckin’ problem is, I don’t fuckin’ like it.”
“Aw, poor baby. Last time I checked, you ended this. Not me. Remember?”
“Fuck me, Chantelle. You’re testin’ my nerve.”
I grin, even though he can’t see it.
“Sorry to make you so uncomfortable, Boston. But I’m a young, hot-blooded woman. I know what I want.”
“I fuckin’ know what you want, too.”
His hands glide around to my hips, roughly, and then with little to no effort, he unbuttons my shorts and slips one down the front, finding my aching pussy. I don’t try and stop him, hell, why would I? The man turns me on, and fuck, I want him so bad it hurts.
“I thought we weren’t doing this,” I whimper when his finger slides through my flesh.
“Fuckin’ wet, you dirty little bitch.”
I grin.
“Talking to me like that only turns me on, honey. You should know that by now.”
“This pussy achin’ for him, or me?”
“Both.”
He bites my shoulder and I cry out. “By the time I’m done, it’ll be me, and only fuckin’ me.”
I don’t get a chance to throw more sass back at him, because his finger plunges inside me, and my whimpers turn to low, pleasured moans. I’m horny. But mostly, my body has been craving him. Aching for him. Needing him. He fucks me with his fingers until my knees get weak and my body trembles for him. I’m far too drunk for this. If I wasn’t, I’d probably stop him because I know I’m going to feel like shit about this in the morning.