Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
I look around, squinting. There’s definitely someone lurking in the forest, watching us. I can sense it, and the hairs on my neck stand up with awareness. Suspicion builds in my chest because the Isle of Deux stations sentries at the causeway to protect the island. But I know that our newest soldier, Joey, likes to smoke weed. The asshole is nineteen, and an irresponsible shit. I told Stone to station him somewhere insignificant, but did our glorious leader listen? No. Now there’s someone spying on us, and I need to figure out who it is.
Still humming, I glance around the glade discreetly. Sure enough, there’s a shadow lurking in the forested area to the left. It disappears, and then reappears slightly to the right, leaves rustling ever-so-gently as it moves.
Slowly, I put down my drum before stepping seamlessly away from the circle. Then, I tiptoe into the woods, careful to stay silent and hidden. There’s no sense in tipping off this mysterious intruder. It’s probably just Joey anyways, being an ass while playing hooky from his job.
I use my instincts to follow the sounds of crackling and popping as the intruder moves through the brush. A slight breeze carries the scent of the watcher to me and it’s … cherry vanilla? What the fuck? Does Joey wear perfume?
But then there’s another popping sound, and the shadow’s right in front of me, not ten feet away. It’s time to strike. With soft steps, I approach and then launch myself at the murky form crouched in the bushes.
“Gotcha!” I bellow, landing with a violent thump on the watcher. But instead of landing on hard muscle, instead I’m cushioned by soft curves as the scent of cherry vanilla grows stronger in my nostrils.
“Eeek!” a high-pitched voice squeals. “What are you doing? Why did you just attack me? You could have asked me to come out, you know. That was totally unnecessary.”
What the hell? Our watcher is female? There aren’t many women on the Isle of Deux, and those women are kept under close supervision. Even so, the lush curves pressed against my hard form make my mouth water as a red-headed girl glares up at me from her place on the ground, her hazel eyes outraged.
“Who are you?” she demands. “And what the hell are you doing with your double-dicked friends? Are you a cult? A coven of male witches? What’s going on?”
I stare at her because she’s beautiful, with a small, upturned nose; pointed chin; and curves that go on for days. Her breasts are enormous and soft pressed against my chest, as wide hips cushion my heavy ones. Still, this woman doesn’t belong on our secret isle … and it’s my job to get rid of her.
6
Amy
Who is this oaf? And why did he tackle me as if we’re scrimmaging in the NFL? Can’t he see that I’m a woman?
But as the man rolls off of me, it’s obvious that he knows I’m a woman. He moves slower than he should, that massive form hulking and brutish as he takes in my curvy form. His skin is a deep coppery shade, and yet he’s got light eyes. Are they blue? Green? Or maybe even a shimmery shade of silver.
Still, I’m outraged that I’ve been pushed to the ground and I sit up, swatting my curls out of my face.
“Hey! What the hell? Why did you do that? You tackled me! You’re lucky I didn’t break any bones.”
His pupils dilate as he takes in my flushed cheeks and heaving bosom. But my attacker doesn’t answer. Instead, he seizes me by the waist and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Hey!” I screech, beating at his broad back with two fists. “What are you doing? You can’t do this!”
The man still doesn’t answer. Instead, he begins to stride through the forest, one big forearm pinned over my thighs. He’s made of pure muscle, and my fists feel like they’re beating against a giant slab of heavy, carved wood.
“Hey!” I scream again. “Answer me! Help, can anyone hear me? Help, help!”
But we’re moving so fast through the foliage that no one from the drum circle could possibly hear my shrieks. I wiggle and struggle, trying to escape until the man smacks my rump with one big hand. I’m so startled by the action that my mouth snaps shut and I go still as heat blooms through my bottom.
“That’s what you get for screaming,” he growls while continuing to stride through the trees. “Now keep your trap shut or more of that is coming your way.”
My cheeks heat because while the slap stung, it didn’t hurt hurt. In fact, I’m a little turned on by the harsh treatment. My bottom is burning a rosy red, but still, there’s something arousing about his bossy, dominant ways.