Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
“We’ve been over this.”
“We have.” His words are a deep rasp along my shoulder, and then my bra is gone, one leg lifted and locked along his back.
His hand slips from me, looping around from behind instead and diving back into my slick heat. “This pussy’s good, Rich Girl. Let me have it.”
I’m panting now. My hand shoots up over my head, latching on to the light fixture attached there, and I grind against him. “If you think I’m about to stop you, you’re highly mistaken.”
His chuckle is low, dark. “Nah, you’re not gettin’ it. Let me have it. Let me …” His buckle unclips, and then the head of his cock is at my entrance. “Call it mine a minute.”
I tense, shoving his chest slightly, so I can see him better, but he’s focused on where our bodies are bare and touching.
He’s insane, likely—highly likely—in the literal sense.
But he has me in his hold, so I must be too …
He’s slow to bring his eyes to mine, and when he does, sheer determination shines back.
He presses inside, filling me as he waits, head cocking to one side.
Stretched like this, with his glass-like gaze on me, I can’t think, so I don’t. I roll my hips instead, and already, with the little bit of foreplay, my orgasm is crowning.
He pulls out a few inches, rocking into me with deep, rhythmic strokes, palming my ass and rolling me into him as he slides inside, guiding my hips back with each glide out.
He feels it, I’m there.
“So soon, Rich Girl?” he teases, sucking on my bottom lip.
His tone is almost playful, charming, if a guy like him is capable of such a thing. It’s a dangerous, adorable sound.
A whimper leaves me, beads of sweat building along the base of my neck, and I reach out, clenching onto him.
My insides spasm, and I moan, ready for release, but that moan morphs into a gasp when he tears out of me. My eyes snap open, and I blink into focus, swiftly narrowing in on his form.
His already retreating form.
I didn’t see him press the button to open the door, but it’s open, he’s smirking, and then …
He’s gone.
A sharp breath hisses from my lips, my body falling against the wall with a soft thud.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
I don’t mean to shout, but there it is.
I think I hear him chuckle, and then I’m positive I do because it grows an alto deeper when the chair I kick over in the next second topples with a harsh thump.
Annoyed and flustered beyond reason, I press my fingertips into the corners of my eyes and catch my breath.
It takes a moment, but I get myself together, and then a low laugh slips past my lips as I bend, reaching beneath the small table to my left. When I stand, it’s with a small, simple, single-fold wallet in my hand, black leather, of course, that I slipped from his pocket and nudged from view.
Slapping it in my palm, I smirk and look inside.
My lips quickly turn down when each card slot is as empty as the next, with nothing but a small sliver of white where the bills should be. Taking it out, I let the wallet fall to the floor and unfold the piece of paper—the bottom corner of a menu.
I read over the single line written in sharp, dark, quite flawless cursive, my teeth sinking into my lower lip.
Call me Bastian, little thief.
A low laugh leaves me, and I drop into the armchair with a sigh, staring at his name a little longer than I’ll admit.
“Well played, Bastian.”
Well played.
Chapter 7
Bass
The metal fence presses at my back as I cut a quick glance at the curb. No Hayze, so I don’t bail on the new group home girl yet.
She’s trying to get back on the cards at the warehouse, in need of a quick buck for reasons that are none of my business, as all the girls at the home are, but she’s been the first one of them to step in that dirt ring and whoop ass like she’s bored, the shit comes so easy to her. It makes for good business for me, but my boss has taken an interest in the scrappy, sassy chick with two chips on her shoulders, and he wants her ass far away from there. And me.
I laugh on the inside at that.
“What’d they say?” She blows her black hair from her face, glaring at me, trying to hear from the horse’s mouth why I won’t let her back in the ring and knowing damn well the order came from the top.
I don’t entertain her shit, and she doesn’t expect me to. She comes from where I come from, not literally, but punk kids from the gutter are born understanding what these privileged pricks have to be taught.