Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 79938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I couldn't tell you how long it went on.
It could have been minutes or days or half a lifetime.
Even so, it could still somehow never be enough.
But before I could let him do something truly obscene to me, there was a clearing of a male voice that seemed to have the same impact to my system as a bucket of ice water as I sprang away from Pagan. Before my eyes could even clear from the sudden motion, I was yanking at the bottom of my dress to make sure it was covering enough of me, and self-consciously flattening my hair.
"You're up," the man in the suit who said our drinks were on Pagan said, standing there a few feet away. "And if you fuck her after your fight, it better the fuck not be on my desk again. Or I will show your ass why the fuck my ass doesn't go in that ring."
Those were his parting words as I sat there, heart racing, mind following, need still a clawing thing low in my belly.
"Was that a threat?" I asked, brows drawn together.
"Let's just say I'm a fucking animal both in the ring and in the sack. Ross Ward is another beast entirely."
Then with that, Pagan was gone as well, leaving me there to try to slow my breathing and look around, wondering who might have overseen our little makeout session.
"I love me some kissing," Benny said, walking up from behind me with a new round of drinks. "But I don't think I have ever kissed for an hour straight."
An hour.
An hour?
Jesus.
No wonder I was so squirrelly.
"I should expect you late tomorrow, yes?" he asked, eyes dancing, lips teasing, as he handed me my drink in hands that were actually a little shaky. Which was incredibly embarrassing since I knew Benny saw if his chuckle was anything to go by. "You have beard burn something fierce right now," he informed me as I drained my drink and raised my hands to touch my cheeks that did feel hot, but I figured it was a flush. But when my fingers touched, it was unmistakably sensitive.
"Great," I grumbled, nodding when one of the passing waitresses took my newest glass and asked if I wanted another round. Which, in turn, made me realize that another (or the same) waitress must have popped by during our makeoutathon to get rid of my other glass.
What was wrong with me?
"Kenny, just go home with him," Benny said, shrugging. "I haven't seen you so into someone in, well, ever. If you don't get him out of your system, you're not going to be any good at work tomorrow all sexually frustrated either."
He wasn't exactly wrong.
But as I sat there, hearing the fight going on across the room, the reaction from the crowd, and my own heartbeat whooshing in my ears, I had a strange, niggling little feeling that there was no getting him out of my system.
Then, seeing as that was crazy talk, even for internal monolog, I had another two rounds until that inner voice shut the hell up about asinine ideas of a more than physical connection with Pagan.
I didn't see him again right after his fight.
In fact, my buzz was pretty much wearing off when he finally emerged from some back room with the man Benny informed me he had been in a fight with, both of them looking freshly showered and changed and patched-up. Patched-up because each of them looked like they got into fights with a gorilla and lost. Pagan had a four-inch gash from the edge of his eye to the middle of his cheek which he had pushed together with butterfly stitches, a busted lip, ripped open knuckles, and a nasty bruise on the left side of his jaw. The other guy, Slate, had an eye almost swollen shut, a similarly busted lip, and was walking half to the side, seeming to favor his ribs.
Why did people sign up happily to get their asses kicked? I was pretty sure that no matter how many explanations about adrenaline or whatever they could give me would never actually help me understand.
"Slate, Kennedy," Pagan said, dropping down on the very small couch, dragging me up on his lap so Benny wasn't crushed. "And Benny," he added. "This is Slate, the guy whose ass I just kicked."
"He sounds all big and bad right now," Slate said, smiling down at me. "But two fights ago, his ass had to go get his fingers splinted, ribs wrapped, and a cut near his eye glued."
"Well, I have a man and fluffy baby at home waiting for me," Benny declared, dropping money on the table for the waitress who had been taking care of us. "I will see you... when you get in."
"Wait, no," I objected, trying to jolt up, but Pagan's hands were around me. "You're my ride."