Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Stop that. You’re like one of your emojis.”
A smile penetrates the angry mask she’s wearing. “One of my emojis? I didn’t invent them, you know.”
“Old men like me don’t use them.”
I mean for it to come out in a good-natured, self-deprecating way, but it comes out almost self-pityingly. Pathetic.
“Don’t call yourself an old man,” she snaps. “You’re not even forty, are you?”
“In a few months, I will be.”
“Still, that’s not old.”
“It’s nineteen years older than twenty-one.”
“Oh, so you’re a math whizz, too?” She says, full of sass.
Somehow, I laugh. Despite everything. After a pause, she laughs with me. We look at each other in the rearview mirror, not needing to say anything to know what we’re both thinking. It’s surreal and ridiculous that we’re able to laugh right now. But we can. I guess that means something. Then I feel even stupider for letting myself think anything means a damn thing. The only thing that matters is keeping her safe.
We both stop laughing. I might be projecting, but I’m sure she feels as guilty as I do. She rubs her hands up and down her legs. That nervous motion again, but my mind thinks differently. I can still feel her wetness. My rod is still stiff, and her taste is still on my lips. At least the interruption stopped us from going too far, all the way, which I’m sure I would’ve done. The interruption was the only thing that could have stopped me.
What about her? Would she have gone all the way—let me pull down her pants, reveal her thick, meaty thighs, kiss up to her soaked haven, and lick up and down her swollen, horny-as-fuck lips? If I had lavished her needy nub with attention, would she have moaned and begged for more, then let me slip my finger inside to prepare her for my hungry cock? Would she have…?
I forcibly tug my thoughts away from there.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I grunt.
“I can’t promise not to tell my parents something, at least,” she says. “I know you want it to be that way, Nico. But what if they decide to mess with Mom or Dad? What if Mom’s at the store and some mobster walks up to her, and she doesn’t know who he is or has no frame of reference? What if those guys trick them? I can’t just leave them in the dark. You couldn’t leave me in the dark.”
Goddamn it. I don’t know how to reply to this. It’s not as if she’s speaking nonsense. Everything she’s just said makes complete sense. She’s got the right to protect her parents—but they already know. I can’t tell her that without getting in the middle of a family drama that has nothing to do with me. But if does she tells them, she’ll be opening a can of worms.
“Arria,” I say. “This will not make any sense, but trust me, please, I promise. Your parents are not in danger. You’re most likely not even in danger. I’m just being overly cautious. It’s in my nature. I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
She bites her lush lip, which reminds me of the kiss and makes me ache for another one. She looks introspective, serious, and mature. She has so many shades and moods, so many versions of her. I’m becoming obsessed. That’s a problem. I need to remedy it. I need to stop thinking about her.
“You’re not making any sense.”
“But it’s true,” I tell her. “I promise. I swear. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
She folds her arms, pushing her tits together. There I go again, fantasizing about my niece. It’s like I can’t stop. It comes far too easily. The hunger she ignites in me is feral. I’m an animal around her. “I’m lying to you,” she murmurs.
“About what?”
She stares out the window again. “You’ve been honest with me about your mafia work. I know that couldn’t have been easy. But telling me that, you knew it couldn’t hurt me. But what if I had a secret that could hurt you?”
“What is it?” I say, aware my tone has become fierce, almost the same one I used during my nightmare days when I would interrogate people.
She curls her wild hair around her finger. Everything she does is fascinating to me—enthralling. I can’t look away, which is a problem while driving. It takes an effort to keep my eyes on the road. “I…” She hesitates, closes her mouth, and lets out a breathy sigh that reminds me of her pleasure-filled moan. “Before, when we were kissing, I let you touch me. I was getting all hot and heavy. But I was lying to you, in a way, because I’m a virgin, Nico. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. In fact, that was my first kiss.” She laughs, but not really. It’s more like a surreal acknowledgment, a comment on our situation. “My first-ever kiss was with my uncle.”