Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
I already know she belongs to me. As she cries out, bucking and breaking our kiss, I look at her sweet face fraught with orgasmic bliss, tense and lost in the pleasure I am giving her.
Because her pleasure is mine.
Her pussy is mine.
Her mouth, tits, womb, ass, all mine, mine, mine.
I’m keeping my new sister. Not just for play, for keeps.
She’ll be Mrs. James ‘the Savage’ White. My wife and maybe, this is the shock of my life that I want this… the mother of my children.
In between emails and zoom conferences with the defensive coordinator, the trainer and some other teammates, I’ve been making plans that are full on felonies. After the bath, I settled her in bed and I took her some tea as I held my finger to my lips and kept on with one of my calls with a few teammates, debriefing on some game stuff.
I kissed the top of her damp hair and when I went back to look at her an hour later, she was dead to the world. I tucked her in, considered feeling her up while she slept, but I need to focus on work. And I knew, if I got her tits in my hands, or my mouth on her pussy, I’d never want to come up for air.
I’ve never watched someone sleep before in my life. Taylor the cat was giving me the stink-eye, but he and I have an understanding. He doesn’t cock block me and we’re good.
My phone dings with an incoming message. I check it, then head for the front door, swinging it open as a friend and one of my rookie teammates, Bradley Newsome, stands there holding a black bag with two small boxes inside.
“I got the stuff from Smithy and picked up the other thing from that sketchy guy in the warehouse down by the river, just like you said. I didn’t look inside the box, but Smithy did say, you gotta put the lidocaine on for about five to ten minutes for it to take full effect.”
Smithy is the team doctor and an upright guy, but he’ll bend the rules if you’re on his good side and he knows you’re not gonna throw him under the bus when things get hot.
“Great, man, thanks. I really owe you and if you need anything, you just ask.”
“No worries. Just wondering why you needed a midnight courier. I know rookies gotta pay their dues, no problem, but everything okay? We got a big road trip starting tomorrow, need you on point man. If you’re in pain or something—”
“No, I’m good.” I look over my shoulder toward the stairs. “Have a house guest, not feeling too well, didn’t want to leave and this…” I hold up the bag. “Something to help.”
He nods, jerking his thumb towards his running Camaro in the driveway. “I gotta go, grab a couple more hours of sleep, but glad I could help.”
“See you tomorrow.” I close the door, settle on a barstool in the kitchen and start to pull out the box, inspecting the contents and considering the fact that I may have lost my ever-loving mind when I hear a squeak of wood from the stairs.
Fifth one down. I know that sound well.
I shove the bag and box into the cupboard, the torturous knowledge that I’m going to have to leave here in a few hours making my heart feel like it’s bound with barbed wire. I don’t want to leave her here, and having her upstairs and not in my sight has made me twitchy. What am I going to be like when I’m halfway across the country and she’s here alone?
I sniff, clearing my throat as another stair squeaks and there’s the soft pat, pat, pat of bare footsteps coming from the foyer toward the kitchen.
“What are you doing up?” I say as her sleepy eyes come around the corner, her hair in a wild curly halo, her hand covering a yawn as my jersey hangs down below her knees.
“Thirsty. So thirsty.” She tiptoes over to the fridge. “Can I see what’s inside?”
“Of course. Everything here is yours.” I stand, working my way around the counter to her. “Including me.”
“Do you have an off switch? It’s like, three in the morning, why aren’t you sleeping?”
I grab the door handle of the refrigerator and swing it open. “Things on my mind. Things to do.” The bright light from inside shows off the curves of her face as I nod at the bottles and contents inside. “Orange juice, Diet Coke…but you can’t have that.”
“What do you mean?” She gets that defiant little crease in her forehead.
“Because that’s poison. Shouldn’t even be in here. My baby doesn’t drink poison, not on my watch.” I grab the plastic bottle and throw it into the sink, the bottle cracking and a hissing pin-sized fountain starts shooting four feet into the air. “Messy poison. Here,” I reach inside, grabbing two bottles and holding them out for her to choose. “Coconut water or organic peach tea.”