Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” He slapped my ass, hard. “If you don’t get inside, I can’t promise that it won’t happen again.”
“Holy—” I hurried inside, my oversensitive clit begging for reprieve while also crying out for more.
Nate followed and closed the door behind us. He put a hand on my shoulder and turned me around to face him. “Listen. Now that we got that out of our system—”
“Out of our system?” I tilted my chin up and met him head on. “Is that what you’re going to call it?”
He carefully unrolled his shirt sleeves. “Yes. Now that it’s done, we need to put the brakes on all of this.”
“Oh, so after you eat my pussy on the back lawn, it’s time to cool it?”
He put both hands on my shoulders and squeezed. “If we take this any farther, I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop.” A naked sort of honesty colored his voice. “And that’s not what I want for you.”
The sting of rejection aside, I was beyond tired of him telling me what he wanted for me instead of listening to what I wanted for me. “I don’t want to stop.”
He closed his eyes and let out a labored sigh. “We have to.”
“You know what.” I stepped out of his grip. “Fuck you.”
His eyes snapped open and narrowed on me. “What?”
“I said go fuck yourself,” I hissed. “This is some high school bullshit. You know that? You got what you wanted and now you’re just going to break it off? Actually, that isn’t even high school. That’s junior high.”
He gaped, wounded pride flowing out of him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No, I’m not. You keep telling me I’m eighteen, but it’s crystal clear I’m the mature one here.”
He sputtered. “I am not junior high anything and you—”
“Yes you are. Running like a scared little boy. Well, I’m tired of chasing you. If you don’t want this, then that’s fine. Stay away from me. We’re done here.” We weren’t done. I’d never be done with him, but I was at a total loss of how to deal with his bullshit. He wanted me. I wanted him. What was so wrong about that? Why couldn’t he stop pushing me away?
“Don’t do that.” He stepped toward me.
I moved back. “Don’t do what? Tell you that you’re full of shit? Tell you that I know you want this as much as I do? Fine. I won’t. I guess you got what you were after—the first taste. Good for you. Go ahead and add that notch to your bedpost.”
Hurt flashed across his eyes, but that wasn’t going to stop me. He wasn’t the only one in pain.
“You want this to end? Then I agree. It’s over. Thanks for the fun on the grass.” I turned and rushed down the hall, my eyes stinging with tears I refused to shed in front of him.
“Sabrina, wait.” His footsteps echoed behind me.
“No. Leave me alone.” I shot up the stairs and to my room, then slammed the door and locked it.
Hello Kitty mocked me as the tears rolled down my cheeks. He stood outside my door. I waited for him to knock, say something, do something. He didn’t. He just stood there for long minutes before I sensed him walk away, heard his shoes on the stairs, and then the front door slammed.
Chapter Eleven
Nate
“You don’t understand, man,” I said into my phone and took a swig from my IPA. Gilly the bartender gave me a disapproving look. Was I drinking at ten in the morning? Yeah. Did I give a shit? No. I owned The Slaughterhouse, a dive bar in Fishtown, so Gilly had to serve me even if it was God o’clock on Rapture Sunday.
Conrad cleared his throat on the other end of the line. “I understand perfectly.” The cold killer was the only one I could talk to, even though he was officially dead. He and his woman, Charlie, had settled in a little town out west and made a new life for themselves. The tinkling laughter of a little girl in the background made me smile. “Tell my niece that I’ve got some real heavy shit to discuss over here, but that I miss her.”
“She knows. All three of them keep asking when you’re coming to visit.”
“Not anytime soon.” I took another swig. “I’m meeting the Irish this afternoon. I’ve got a rat. I’ve got a Dmitri. And, the worst part, I’ve got a raging boner for Sabrina.”
“You could have left the boner part out.” His low smooth voice conjured familiar images of late nights spent doing the old boss’ dirty work. Those days were simpler, back when I had no idea how difficult being in charge was. It looked so easy. You gave an order, your soldiers followed it. The parts I didn’t see—dealing with the cops, money laundering, accounting, thieves, rival organizations—came crashing down on me as soon as I took the reins.