Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Yet, we’ve all watched each other fuck here in the club,” he points out.
“I know. And there was a small part of me that was totally turned on by it.”
“Me too.” He chuckles and then presses another kiss onto my mouth. “Interested in going another round in here?”
“In this room?” I ask for clarification.
“No,” he says with a wicked gleam in his eye. “The room with the stocks. I’d like to lock you up in it, and let you suck my dick a little. You give the best head, Hart.”
I laugh and lift my head to give him a quick kiss in return. “Deal.”
“Actually, I really want to fuck you while you’re locked in the stocks,” he says with an almost menacing smile that causes my belly to flutter in anticipation. “Best way to spank your ass hard, which I know you happen to like.”
I groan at the same time I push him off me. He’s right. I like that a lot, and I’d like to go do that like right now.
Bodie laughs at my impatience as we roll off the mattress and gather our clothes. We don’t bother putting them on as we’re just going down two rooms.
It’s turning out to be a perfect night here at The Wicked Horse.
CHAPTER 15
Bodie
I turn my truck off as soon as I pull into Rachel’s driveway, and just stare at her house for a moment while the engine continues to tick. She invited me over to dinner tonight, and I don’t know what to make of it.
It’s perplexing because for the last three nights, we’ve only been together at The Wicked Horse. Neither of us have any jobs planned this week, and I never saw her in the gym when I was there working out. But like clockwork, I’d get a text from her late afternoon that invited me to meet her at The Wicked Horse.
One thought is that now that we’ve come out in the open, she likes the thrill of us having sex in front of others. It’s sort of taboo or forbidden, and not going to lie, I get a rush from the guys at Jameson watching me with her. But I also like my alone time with her as well.
The other thought is that Rachel is using the club as a barrier between us. It’s impersonal and casual, or at least on the face of things. But what I do to her and with her is anything but, and she damn well knows it.
Why she is now inviting me into her home for dinner is troubling. I’m more apt to believe she’s going to lay something dreadful on me, like she’s changed her mind about carrying the baby.
With a sigh because I’ll never know until I just walk in there, I hop out of the truck and head up to her house. When I knock on the door, she calls from the inside, “It’s open.”
I walk into Rachel’s living room, barely noticing the ergonomic lines of her contemporary furniture or that her decor lends a spartan feel. Minimalist artwork and no personal photos anywhere. Not that I have any except a few of my family in my bedroom, but I’m a dude. I’m not supposed to be into that shit.
Upon first inhale once I cross the threshold, my mouth waters. Garlic and cheese and pungent tomatoes.
Her kitchen is open to the living area, and Rachel is standing behind a long, rectangular island that separates the two rooms, cutting up a loaf of Italian bread. She smiles at me.
It’s open and genuine, and I’m immediately put at ease.
“Smells delicious,” I say as I take a seat on one of the bar stools on the living room side.
“Lasagna,” she says as she saws through the crusty bread with a serrated knife. “Not a drop of Italian blood in me but for some reason, I make a really good lasagna. Plus, I’m craving all kinds of gooey cheese.”
“Anything I can do to help?” I ask, hoping there’s not so I can just sit here and watch her be domestic. Domesticity is not something I think about when I think of Rachel Hart, so I’m going to enjoy it.
“No,” she says, but then nods her head over her shoulder. “But there’s a bottle of red wine on the back counter if you want some.”
“I’m good.” In all actuality, I love wine, but I’ve just not been drinking lately. Not sure if I’m just abstaining because Rachel can’t drink, or if I just don’t want my senses dulled when I’m around her.
Rachel nods with a small smile and finishes the bread. She lays the slices on a pan, and then dabs them with a melted butter that has garlic pieces floating in it.
“So… this is nice.” She looks up at me in question, and I nod toward the bread. “You cooking dinner and inviting me.”