Total pages in book: 14
Estimated words: 13384 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13384 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
She shrugs. Folds her arms. Fuck. The movement pushes the gorgeous globes of her tits together. I wonder what shape her nipples are. Big areolas, small little peaks, or small-on-small, or big-on-big? Whatever shape, I’d tease them, make them hard. Suck them and then bite down on her whole fleshy tit softly, but enough to see a mark. A tattoo of ownership.
I look broodingly at her. “It said ‘Mara’ on that photo. Must be you.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she murmurs, shifting on the spot.
Her thick legs rub together. Dangerous little thing, it’s like she’s feeling friction, like she wants a release even if she can’t outright acknowledge it.
“Like what?” I ask, moving closer to her.
She looks up. Mouth open. Eyes wide and ready. But also with a glint of self-respect in them, like she knows she needs to stop this. She turns away without responding.
I shrug and go to the hood, pop it. Take a look at her ancient vehicle. What a piece of junk. “You’re going to need to call someone out,” I tell her after a few minutes. “Can’t fix this, here.”
“Oh, great,” she says, sighing. “Like I have the money for that.”
“I can handle it,” I reply. “In the meantime, I can give you a ride home.”
She tilts her head at me. Knows she shouldn’t. Knows she shouldn’t trust the tatted stranger. But maybe she feels it too.
This connection that’s making my cock ache, but my soul sing.
4
MARA
Is this a bad idea?
I don’t know this man. He hasn’t given me a straight answer about why he keeps popping up in my life. Yet there’s this weird warmth in me. Like a growing reassurance that I can, that I should trust him. It’s a connection that makes no sense. One, I should fight with everything I have. Where is sensible when I need it?
He moves even closer. Almost touching me now. His hard body radiates waves of heat.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says huskily. “If that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” I whisper.
“Because you feel it. I know you do.”
I bite down. That makes his eyes blow wide for a second. He scans me every time I move. Like each movement makes him think something savage and urgent. His chest heaves, and his tattooed hands twitch at his sides.
“Feel, what?”
“Come on, Mara,” he says. “Let me help you.”
He turns. Walks across the street. In my head, Dad scolds, I taught you better than this …
But despite feelings of uncertainty, I listen to the improbable voice. The one that tells me I can trust this stranger.
He leads me to a sleek sedan and opens the passenger-side door. When I move to climb in, he steps forward. His body brushes up against mine.
Oh my … Electric passion seizes me, my clothes are suddenly way too tight. Through his jeans, I’m sure I see the huge outline of his desire. Maybe it’s just the way his jeans are twisted. Is he seriously as hard as a freaking rock for me? Here, in public?
I climb in, smooth my hands up and down my legs. Fight the insane urge to press my hand between my legs and ride my own palm.
He gets into the driver’s seat, takes a toothpick from his pocket. Chews on it as he starts the engine.
“Address?” he says.
I give it to him.
“An apartment.”
“I’m living with a friend,” I murmur. “I was in a house until … well, I was in a house.”
He glances at me. Eyes dark yet sparking with hunger, with curiosity. “You don’t want to talk about it.”
An image flashes into my mind. Dad. The blood. The horror.
The emptiness I feel. And I know I am not yet fully grieving.
“No,” I whisper.
“Tell me about your photography instead, then,” he says as we drive.
Before I reply, my phone buzzes. A text from Kate.
Hey, I’m staying at Ryan’s tonight. I think there are some leftovers in the fridge if you want them.
I quickly put my phone down. Swallow a ball of nerves.
And try hard to swallow some other feelings; a mix of nerves and tingly, but guilt-ridden, excitement. I’ve got the apartment to myself. It’s like fate is messing with me. Big time!
“Mara?” Radomir growls.
“Why do you want to know?” I counter.
“I’m interested in you. Not just your body. Or those lips of yours. All of you.”
I look out the window. My body. My lips. What he doesn’t know is that his words make my other lips tingle almost unbearably. I squeeze my legs together, trying to release some of the tension.
Should I tell him I’m a virgin? Whatever else is happening in this insane situation, there’s sexual tension, right? Or maybe I’m imagining that. It’s not like I’ve got enough experience.
Maybe I’m just cray-cray.
“I just … love it,” I murmur.