Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
He couldn’t help being attracted to Sharpe’s anger and pent-up need for affection.
Lincoln gripped Sharpe on the back of his neck to see his reaction.
He tensed, one side of his mouth turning up into a snarl.
“Tell me my touch turns you on?” Lincoln breathed against Sharpe’s lips.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” Sharpe bit out through a tight jaw.
“Never been much for games, Detective.”
Sharp sneered, then shifted his glare toward the mansion.
“So what is it you do in that big ole house, hmm?”
“Come inside and find out,” Lincoln whispered. “Let’s satisfy that curiosity.”
Deep grooves carved across Sharpe’s brow. “Or you can just tell me.”
Lincoln reduced the space Sharpe had created, and he wasn’t surprised when the man didn’t retreat. He was too bullheaded.
“I can show you better than I can tell you.”
“You know what? I don’t like cryptic motherfuckers who can’t answer a simple-ass question.”
Lincoln shrugged. “I can’t help it. You’re asking the wrong question.”
Sharpe clenched his teeth.
Lincoln was unfazed by the ire. “Did you come here to fight with me?”
“You know why I came.”
“Well, you’re sure as hell not gonna find any answers out here listening to the waves and scowling at my handsome face under the moonlight.”
Sharpe narrowed his eyes. “Conceitedness is the most unattractive quality I can think of.”
“If you say so.”
“FYI, you’re not as irresistible as you think you are.” Sharpe’s gaze fell to his mouth again.
“If you say so.” Lincoln winked.
“I’ve already debunked the gentleman bullshit.” Sharpe reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes before he slid one out and put it between his lips. “Thorn Blackwell is pretty convincing, but you, on the other hand, need to work on your act.”
Lincoln was a respectful man most of the time, but the detective seemed to bring out the worst parts of him. The parts he used to have such fun with.
Lincoln eased the cigarette from Sharpe’s lips and put it inside his own.
“Then come in, asshole. Let’s see what other theories you can debunk.” He inhaled and blew the smoke in Sharpe’s face. “After you.” Lincoln gestured with one arm.
Sharpe reclaimed his cigarette before proceeding down the beach toward the house.
Lincoln slid his mask over his face with a flourish. “Nice of you to comply with tonight’s theme.”
“I don’t own a mask,” Sharpe muttered over his shoulder.
“Sure you do. What about the permanent one you wear every day?” Lincoln chuckled sarcastically.
Sharpe stopped dead, shoulders stiffening, but Lincoln strolled right past the brooding detective, knowing he’d follow.
Belladonna Mansion
Masquerade Ball ~ Ballroom
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
February 2nd, 12:19 a.m.
Casey was cradled in Galan’s strong arms while he conversed with a couple of stragglers—who didn’t know when a party was over—about a boring stock market story.
He’d enjoyed the masquerade well enough. The decorations were beautiful, and the neo-soul band he’d hired was the best they’d ever had.
He’d eaten more than he should’ve from the extensive buffet spread, but everything had looked so appetizing, and he had a nice buzz from the few drinks he’d consumed.
Now, he was ready for bed.
Casey nuzzled closer under Galan’s armpit, brushing his hard cock against his thigh.
His Sir glanced down and gave him a sultry warning glare while not missing a word in his conversation.
Casey was finishing his third glass of champagne when a loud belch escaped before he could stop it.
He covered his mouth and chuckled under his breath. “I apologize. How rude of me.”
Galan narrowed his warm brown eyes, then eased the glass from Casey’s hand and set it on the nearby table.
No sooner had Galan turned around than Casey swiped it back up and took another satisfying swallow.
He was a boy who knew how to get a reaction from his Sir.
Galan pressed his mouth to his temple. “Are you choosing to misbehave because you want my punishment, or is it the drinks impairing your judgment?”
Casey tucked his bottom lip between his teeth as something akin to excitement flashed in Galan’s eyes behind his simple black leather mask.
He couldn’t resist wanting his focus to be only on him.
Galan was everything he’d been looking for in a Sir: brilliant, disciplined, successful, and a pillar in his community. But most of all, he adored Galan’s kindness and eagerness to show affection.
He stood on his tiptoes and whispered against Galan’s rough jaw. “I’ll gladly take your punishment, Sir, if I can have you inside me after.”
Galan took Casey’s half-drunk glass of champagne and discarded the remainder. He pulled them away from the nearly empty room to a corner in the dining hall. It was empty except for the hired staff cleaning up.
Galan backed him against the wall behind a twelve-foot Ficus and towered over him. He wanted to whimper at the proximity, inhaling Galan’s domineering scent. It never failed to intoxicate him, and after three glasses of wine and champagne, Casey couldn’t take any more.