Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
I assess the kitchen, neat, not overly extravagant but well put together and I guess I never considered a man of the cloth could lives so well. I guess I had it in my head the whole celibate and poor deal, but guess that’s not for the Baptists.
As I work my way down the hall, the memory of her sweet perfume makes my pulse race and the muscles in my back tighten.
I follow the music, which leads to a closed door toward the end of a hall with a bathroom, another bedroom and two more closed doors, one of which has music blaring behind it.
I stand outside, my hands on the door frame, and I squeeze until my knuckles pop. With my chin nearly to my chest, I consider walking back out the front door. This is crazy.
She’s making me crazy.
Instead, I straighten up, open my eyes and start to knock, but fuck it. Go big or go home.
So, instead, I grab the door handle and swing it open, stepping inside.
There she is. Sitting in front of a canvas on an easel, painting something that looks like the Ride or Die bar in some abstract impressionistic style.
As I enter, she spins in her seat and when she sees me she’s on her feet, backing up and throwing her paint brush down on a side table covered with tubes of paint, a glass jar full of milky gray water with the ends of ten other brushes standing up in it.
“What the hell!” She half screams. “You’re a fucking stalker. Get out of here.” She points to the bedroom door and I stop my forward motion, but I’m not leaving.
She’s wearing this sleeveless blue sweater, the color of a Robin’s egg, with black shorts that come down just below her knees. Her wardrobe reminds me of that sister from Happy Days. Joanie, I think? Only, on her, it’s fucking sexy as hell.
Her mouth hangs open a little, but her protest is silent and I don’t miss the way a blush covers her chest and her breathing grows harder. She’s telling me to leave but other parts of her are saying something else.
“Do you normally break into women’s houses and barge into their bedrooms?” She’s giving me the tough act, but there’s a hitch in her voice that tells me she’s not quite sure what’s going on.
Neither am I, I want to tell her.
“Nope. Never done it before.” I answer, moving forward again now that the fear is gone from her eyes. “But, then, no woman ever made me want to before.”
She lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Wow. Is that supposed to make me feel special?”
I shrug, raising my eyebrows. “You are special. If you don’t feel that way, that’s something I’ll have to change.”
She squints and shakes her head. “Are you affected in the head? You know, if my father comes back—”
I hold my hands up, stopping her right there. “I know, he’ll kill me. Right?”
She crosses her arms over her magnificent chest and my mouth is watering. I can almost feel the softness of her tits on the sides of my cock as I fuck between them, my dick slick with her spit from sucking me off.
With two more steps, the space between us is mere inches, and I can see the way her pulse is moving the flesh of her neck just below her jaw. I want to kiss her there and feel it under my tongue.
She inhales as I look down, and seeing her pink tongue graze along her bottom lip my own heart starts hammering into my rib cage, and the vision of her naked and on all fours, taking me hard with my name on her lips has my balls drawn tight and ready to stand and deliver.
“Tell me one thing.” I ask, taking a loose strand of her hair between my fingers and letting the silky softness run through my hand. “When you see me...when I get close to you...” I close the last bit of space between our bodies, my chest now grazing hers. “You feel something.”
“Yeah, I feel like I should call the police.”
I bite back my laugh. “Maybe. But there’s something else. If you tell the truth, you feel it too. I’ve never felt anything like I feel when I look at you, Kristina.”
Her name on my lips felt right and there was a flicker behind her blue eyes.
“I thought it was just bad tacos.” She’s keeping the tough act going, but the outer shell is cracking.
“Even bad tacos taste good.”
She fights the smile but loses, and I can’t hold back the groan, or the need to know what she tastes like.
I press my lips to hers, greedy and entitled as fuck but the feral animal I’ve been holding back has breached its cage and civility falls away.