Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Sway, we can’t,” she said again, gaze going toward the door, eyes wide as she heard voices.
“If you’re worried,” I said, smirking at her as her gaze slid back to me while I fisted my cock and traced it up her wet cleft. “You better be quiet,” I said as I guided my cock down, and slammed inside of her.
I swear I could feel the moan she let out right in my cock as her pussy tightened around me.
Reaching down, I grabbed her legs, wrapping them around my waist, and fucking her.
Hard.
Fast.
Relentless.
Her moans got louder and louder, likely just barely muffled by the thumping of the music and the sounds of raised, drunken voices.
“Fuck, yeah,” I groaned as her walls tightened. “Come around my cock,” I demanded.
Then she did, taking me with her, leaving us panting and clinging to each other after.
“Okay,” she said, still a bit breathless. “I kind of get the appeal of parties now,” she decided.
“Good. Because there’s gonna be a lot of them around here in the future.”
I didn’t say this as we both put ourselves back together and rode the elevator to our floor, but I was picturing her there in the clubhouse. For Thanksgiving, Detroit and Delaney’s painstakingly prepared meal spread out before us. For Christmas, presents with her name under the tree. For her birthday, everyone celebrating the fact that she exists.
She never had those things.
Not in a decade.
Maybe not even before then.
I wanted to give her that. I wanted to watch her eyes light up and her smile stretch big.
I wanted to have a future with her.
At the time, I just had no idea the hell we’d have to go through to get there…
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Murphy
The guns were done.
I’d even dragged it out an extra two days, claiming there were things that just needed some tweaking.
That was a lie.
I just wanted the time.
With the club, who I was starting to really love.
But, more so, with Sway.
Because a part of me was absolutely terrified that once the guns were finished, tested, and on their way to Florida, Sway’s interest in me would start to fade.
That was probably completely irrational of me. Sway had shown no signs of losing interest in me. But I guess because I’d never had any sort of lasting relationship with a man, I was having a difficult time believing it was possible, that I could have that with someone. Least of all with someone like Sway. With his reputation.
His eyes were only for me, though, even as we took the girls for an early morning walk, trying to tire them out and keep them calm for the long day ahead.
We had to leave them behind to go on the trip to test the guns.
Slash had tried to convince me just to take them into the Death Valley mountains to test them there.
But I saw several flaws with that plan.
It wasn’t private property, so anyone could be lurking around. There was a lot of potential to hurt someone that way. And it also meant that if someone heard a strange gunshot, they might call the police, who would come out, find, and arrest me.
I didn’t exactly know what kind of time I could get for creating black market weapons, but I imagined it was a lot of it.
I was not going to leave my dogs motherless just because I got sloppy.
I was a creature of habit. I liked knowing all the variables of a situation. And knowing that I was protected while I tried out the guns.
Did that mean that I had to take Sway on a several-hour-long road trip in each direction?
Yeah. Yeah, it did.
I tried to convince him to let me go alone, but the guy was stubborn.
That insecure part of me whispered that he was only insisting on going because I was carrying precious cargo, and he needed to keep an eye on the guns.
But I tried to quiet that voice, tried to listen to the words that Sway was telling me, and to believe in them.
That he just wanted to be with me.
“You wouldn’t want to deny yourself my road trip soundtrack, now, would you?” he’d asked when I guess I’d been surprised that he’d insisted he was coming with me.
An hour into the drive, I was actually having a hard time imagining ever going on a road trip without his off-key caterwauling, his fake drum playing, his pointing out every animal we passed. He’d even managed to punch-buggy me once, even though you never saw those cars on the road anymore.
When we stopped for fuel, he jumped out to fill the SUV.
“This is manly work,” he’d claimed with that boyish smirk of his.
I even caught him, between karaoke sessions, casting his gaze in my direction, watching my profile.
I had to admit that I frequently found myself doing the same, some part of me needing to reassure myself that he was there, that this was happening. That we were happening.