Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“I have seven left,” Zane remarked, fighting through the odd cloud that fogged his mind. He moved his foot and poked Roach’s. There. He was no coward.
Roach glanced down and his nostrils flared. He was handsome. Too bad that it didn’t cancel him being a violent wretch of a human being. Zane usually hated the smell of tobacco, yet on Roach it seemed enticing for some unknown reason, mixed with a deep caramel scent that could be his cologne or beard oil, it became a deep, dark but sweet aroma.
“I bet you can have your pick of men. Why me? Have I hurt your pickpocket pride? You wanna see if you can rob me after all?”
“Something like that,” Zane said with a dry mouth. This was the last of the hyenas who’d pushed his life off its tracks, and he wasn’t even sure whether he hated him more or less than the bloodthirsty animals who now lay six feet under. “Wanna see if I succeed this time?”
Zane could have laughed at the hesitation on Roach’s face. He’d go for it. After all that had happened between them, Roach was still unable to help himself. “I actually have a motel room this time.” He returned the tiny tap to Zane’s shoe, and it was as if Roach’s foot were a flint and sparked a fire that was already licking up Zane’s leg.
What the hell was wrong with him?
“This time, I might stay the night,” Zane teased, his fingers gravitating to Roach’s belt. His bloodlust tasted of cum and sweat. It made no sense at all, but he didn’t care anymore as long as it got him his satisfaction.
Roach flinched. Not that out then. But he watched Zane with pupils the size of coins. It was as if he’d snorted a line of coke straight off Zane’s flesh.
“Let’s do it,” he whispered.
Hook. Line. Sinker.
Chapter 4 - Roach
Zane walked so close to Roach their shoulders almost touched, but Roach still couldn’t believe the guy was here, let alone wanted to have anything to do with him. So maybe it was fucked up to try and bed him after what had happened that fateful night, but what if destiny had a hand in their meeting? Who was he to fight it?
Then there was the more prosaic matter of Zane being stupidly hot. He was just as Roach had remembered him. Luscious long hair framed a masculine face. His strong brow line and sharp cheekbones belonged on billboards for the next blockbuster, and walking alongside him in the red glow of the motel’s neon was like a dream turned reality. And the fact that he’d chosen to go with Roach despite the way their last meeting had ended proved Zane was still reckless like a drunk driver thinking he was in charge of his reflexes.
Here they were, stepping into the same river two years on, and this time, Roach didn’t even care if Zane would try to rob him again as long as he got to taste this man in return. Was it possible to develop an obsession with a guy you’d met once? Roach was proof that you could, because Zane visited his dreams too many times to count.
The bastard teased him, stepping so close his hair tickled Roach’s skin, only to put more distance between them as they skirted along the edge of the truck stop. Street lamps here were few and far between, so each time Zane entered a shadowy space between large blots of pale glow, Roach was on the verge of grabbing his hand, of leaning in to bury his face in sandalwood-scented strands.
The trucks were like giants pushing their heads out of the water in anticipation of a spectacle, but Roach knew he wouldn’t dare make a move until they hid in his ugly room on the first floor with mold on the bathroom ceiling and the number sixty-nine on the door.
The dark lust he felt didn’t belong out in the open. They didn’t speak, as they might be overheard, but Roach didn’t need flirting to know he wanted to put his mouth all over Zane.
Roach lived in a dump, but he'd bring Zane there nevertheless. If he used the dim bedside lamp, it would be easy enough to pretend unpacked boxes that contained Roach’s past weren’t there. The room represented the messy state of his life, but for this one night, Zane didn't need to know that. If Zane had come back to see him, there had to be something he still wanted, and Roach was ready to give it to him.
Roach glanced at his motorcycle, parked not far away. It used to belong to his dad, but now was all his, and Roach felt the satisfaction of that fact every time he mounted the Harley. So maybe he wasn’t an outlaw anymore, but if Zane was back for a biker experience, Roach would gladly take him for a ride.