Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
I’m touching him because I’m drawn to him. In an undeniable way that scares me.
You must stay objective. There’s so much on the line.
But as soon as I attempt to pull away, he crushes me into his embrace, lifting me off the ground and burying his face in my neck, inhaling so deeply, it’s a wonder the air isn’t sucked from my lungs. “Where the hell did you come from?” he rasps.
I can’t stop trembling. “A couple of towns over.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
His head lifts to study me with those mad, blue eyes, fingers shoving into my wild hair and gripping, tugging my head back. “Every little thing you say and do seals your fate, you know,” he says, slicking his tongue up the curve of my throat…and oh my god, oh my god, my sex grows wet, as if he’s commanded it with a single lick. A lick I didn’t even know I wanted. Or that I would like. I whimper and turn damp between my legs, the suddenness of my body’s first response to a man making me shy.
“Koen…”
He lays me down on the couch and peruses the length of me like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, his jaw snapping with tension. Watching his own hand with fascination, he slides two fingers beneath the waistband of my jeans and draws it down slowly, slowly, nearly to my privates, before lunging at the flesh just beneath my navel and lapping it roughly. “Everything I lick becomes mine,” he informs me in the darkest, most resonant voice I’ve ever heard come from a human. And then he proceeds to lick every inch of my skin. My face, my neck and throat, my cleavage, my fingertips, my thighs.
Although he stops just short of licking anything covered by my bra and underwear, within minutes, I’ve soaked through my panties and sobs are firing up from my belly when he flips me over with a snarl and gives my back the same treatment. Licking my entire spine, bottom to top, with a long groan, pulling down my pants and underwear so he can lick the cheeks of my backside, down the backs of my legs to my ankles, locking his teeth around them and growling. I’m covered in wet love marks by the time he tears himself off me and begins to pace in front of the couch, the front of his slacks clearly tented, a fine sheen of sweat covering his tattooed torso.
Why does the sight of his arousal make me yearn so deeply?
As if I would know what the heck to do with a man.
You’d learn for him, says a new, sultry voice in the back of my head. For now, his visible unrest is making my chest feel tight.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He swipes a hand down his face. “I’m trying not to fucking terrify you.” His laughter is dark and humorless. “Hell, I’m trying not to terrify myself.”
“You don’t terrify me,” I murmur.
“Oh, Meg.” He stops pacing in front of me and leans down, whispering two words against my ear that make me wonder if I’m the most naïve human being alive. “I should.”
Suddenly, I’m very aware of his tattoos.
The utter violence woven into them. The mayhem and horror.
How many times the artwork includes a scythe. The kind carried by Death.
I was in such a hurry to do as Etta asked, I didn’t stop to consider I’d be putting myself in a whole shitload of danger. She’s asked me to persuade a man who is not to be messed with. Or fooled. And my body is magnetized by him. More than my body.
All of me. Every second that passes, I’m drawn deeper.
“Koen?”
His mouth is still against my ear. “Yes.”
“How did you get this big house? What do you do for living?”
Silence.
“Go to work, Meg.” His hand wraps around my throat. “One way or another, you’ll be back later.”
5
Meg
My hand hesitates over the office phone while I psych myself up for this planned call to Etta. 10:20 PM. I told her I would call and update her on my progress with Koen, but what progress do I even have to report? None. I spent most of my time with him sleeping. Not convincing him to return to a life of crime.
This little check-in isn’t going to go well.
I guess I should just be grateful my father appears to have a handle on the kids and hasn’t had anything to drink. Who knows how long that good fortune is going to last, though. When I called them a moment ago, they were all laughing and walking home from town with ice cream, but the next time I call, he could be snoring in an alleyway somewhere and the kids could be running amok.
To distract myself from the frustration of the unknown, I pick up the phone and dial the memorized number. Etta answers after two rings.