Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
I told you, girl knows how to get what she wants.
He smirks, inhaling deep. “The bike, for now.”
I grin at him. “I’m not going to say no. This cab is taking forever.”
He turns and starts striding toward his bike. I’m guessing that’s an invitation to follow him; to hell if it isn’t, I’m following him anyway. Hell yes I am. I’d skip over if it didn’t seem like I was far too interested.
I stop at the bike and watch as he throws a leg over, flicking the cigarette and making my vagina tighten in a very uncomfortable way. Good lord, does it take effort to be that hot? Because it seems to me like he’s doing it without thought, and that makes it even better. He’s so dark, and edgy, and yet surprisingly easy to talk to. A rare mix in a man, if I do say so myself.
“You goin’ to get on, or am I goin’ to have to sit here all night starin’ at you and wonderin’ how fuckin’ good you taste?”
I blink.
I guess that answers my question.
Lord.
Yes.
I slowly inch my dress up and then sidle over, loving how his eyes grow dark and hooded as he stares at me, that masculine jaw tight, that skin so olive it looks so smooth under the streetlight. He places a hand out, palm up, and I take it, loving how his fingers curl around mine as I throw my leg over the bike. He still has my hand and pulls me closer so my body is pressed into his, then he places my hand on his stomach. I let the other one follow.
He starts up the bike.
The rumble rips right through my body, starting at my toes and slowly crawling up until I’m shivering and trying very hard to hide how turned on I am. The vibrations move through my core, sending me over the edge, and I want more. Boston glances out at the road, and then he pulls the throttle and we take off. I let out a squeal, small and a little girly, and hang onto him tighter. He feels hard, and strong, and so big when I’m behind him, wrapped around him like this.
My panties are wet.
I’m not going to even try and deny that fact.
I want him so bad it physically hurts.
I never told him where I live, but he rolls in without pause, stopping at my apartment. He shuts the bike off, and for a moment, I sit behind him, not really wanting to let go. Not really knowing what to say. Do I invite him in? Will he just come in anyway? Should I ask him about Penelope before any of this goes further? God. I don’t know.
“How did you know where I live?” I murmur into the quiet night.
“We know where everyone lives that has anything to do with people involved with the club.”
Saskia.
Right.
Of course they’ve probably looked me up. They probably know everything about me, too.
“That’s a little creepy,” I tell him.
“Can’t be too safe. You goin’ to climb off?”
Oh.
Right.
I climb off the bike and straighten my dress, staring at him. “Do you want to come in for a drink?”
Straight forward. I don’t hesitate when I know what I want.
He studies me and then climbs off the bike, which is my answer. My heart leaps into my throat and my chest pounds. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I’ve had men over before. I’m confident, most of the time. Not a lot bothers me. So why the mysterious biker has me weak at the knees is far beyond me.
I turn and walk toward the house, swaying my hips, knowing he’s watching. I’ve got a curvy body, the kind most men like. Big boobs, fake, of course, but I was stuck with a nearly flat chest, so what’s a girl to do? I have a great ass. Nice thick legs. I’ve never had a complaint. Hell, even if I did, it wouldn’t stop me. I love everything about who I am.
I unlock my apartment and open the door, stepping aside and letting Boston step in. As he walks past me, I can smell his musky cologne. Lord, it’s good. Whatever it is, it’s good. He glances around my apartment, eyes running over everything, before he finally looks to me. “You got beer?”
I nod.
I walk into the kitchen, open the fridge, and pull out two beers, then I walk back over and hand one to him. He looks impressed. I guess it isn’t often a common thing to meet a girl who drinks beer. I know I haven’t met many, but I’m a beer drinker, I enjoy it. More than I probably should.
He opens the beer and sits down on my sofa like he’s been here a thousand times. Funnily enough, I feel comfortable around him. Not at all self-aware or awkward. It almost feels like we’ve known each other for a thousand years, even though we’ve yet to have a conversation. It’s strange—I’ve never felt that before, not right off the mark. It’s nice. I trust him, even though I don’t really know him. That’s also a nice feeling. I rarely trust anyone. With the kind of family I have, that’s not surprising.