Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Get her safe.
Before it was too late.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Millie
My thighs were burning.
And it wasn’t the walk Storm was practically pulling me on, eager to smell all the scents, and pee on all of the trees. Shameless, he was.
“Buddy, ease up,” I pleaded, wrapping his leash around my hand one more time to shorten it up a bit. “Mommy is having some… adult fun-time-related injuries,” I said, thinking of the activities that led to my sore muscles.
It was a private little sense of pride, honestly. Even if it was making the walk less pleasant than usual.
I would take sex-sore muscles over non-sex-sore muscles any day of the week. Especially if Silvano had been the one causing the soreness.
God, just the memory of him over me, inside me, and behind me, had my face and chest flushing, my clothes feeling scratchy and uncomfortable against my overheated skin.
All I wanted was to get home, to feel him strip me bare, to run his lips, tongue, and scruff over every inch of me before he slid inside of me again, his thickness making me his, inch by inch.
Stopped at a crosswalk, I had to press my thighs together to ease the ache growing there.
I must have been fantasizing long enough to miss the people crossing around me.
It was Storm’s impatient woof that had me shaking the thoughts off and finally moving across the busy street.
“My mind is somewhere else tonight,” I told him, even though he was busy with his nose in the air, smelling the scent of a hotdog vendor a half of a block up.
We’d been walking for forever.
Mostly because I just didn’t want to sit around in the apartment, watching the clock, wondering how long it would be until Silvano got back.
I mean, yeah, I was still constantly checking the time. And, yes, wondering if Silvano would be back by the time we made it to the apartment.
But at least it felt mildly less pathetic when we were getting a good workout in while doing all the pining.
Besides, I actually did love just walking this city. There was always something going on, something to see, new window displays to check out, new food places to take note of for our next outing.
I’d always adored the people-watching aspect of living in a city, but New York took that to a whole new level.
I was loving it here.
I didn’t want to leave.
That thought came barreling out of nowhere, kicking me hard in the stomach, knocking my wind out of me.
There was no denying it, though.
Even if, objectively, I knew I would have to keep moving, would need to settle somewhere until, I don’t know, Neeley died.
But my heart was aching to stay here, to be with Silvano, to take walks with Storm together, to investigate new restaurants, to meet his family—for real this time—and find a sense of home and community here.
The thoughts were swirling, making me stand there in the middle of the street, people side-eyeing me as they squeezed past, Storm watching me with his head cocked to the side.
It felt like an eternity before I could shake the thoughts free, trying not to get lost in the future when I could be enjoying the present.
It was that distraction, though, that might have very well saved my life.
Because if I’d been walking at my usual pace, I would have already been in the apartment building, in the elevator, or even inside the apartment.
Trapped.
Unable to escape.
The little emotional crisis bought me an essential few moments.
So that I was at the edge of the street.
Watching as a car double-parked for a moment.
Until the back door opened.
And a man stepped out, swinging his suit jacket closed, covering up the gun in its shoulder holster that had flashed for a split second.
Neeley.
It was Neeley.
He’d found me.
How? How the hell had he found me?
No.
There wasn’t time to wonder about that.
Not when I was standing out in the open, my red hair a distinct giveaway.
I gave the leash a panicked tug, then flew down the side street, then turned up the next block.
Storm kept easy pace, but I forced myself to a ‘jogging for exercise’ instead of a ‘running for my life’ pace.
My ribs were crying out with each step, the hard concrete meeting my unsupportive ballet flats that did nothing to cushion the shock of the impact, making it move through my whole body.
My lungs burned, and I was reminded again how much I needed to incorporate some sort of cardio into my routine.
Not that I planned to be literally running for my life a third time, but I hadn’t anticipated the first or second time either. You just never knew.
I jogged up another few blocks before ducking into a small alley, taking a second to try to catch my breath, to sort through my racing thoughts.
I wanted Silvano.