Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
He leaned closer. “Whatever I want.”
She looked back at the Lost Boys, who watched them with unblinking eyes. Not a single one looked concerned for her safety. Or—if they were concerned—none appeared willing to interfere because that would mean going against Peter.
She could have pushed him away, but she didn’t. Slow and possessive, he dragged his other hand under her damp hair and caught the back of her neck. Something inside of her caught fire under his possessive hold. The alarming thought that liked being a prisoner, liked knowing that someone else was responsible for whatever happened next, caught her off-guard.
“Peter, the boys are watching.” She could feel their hungry stares egging him on.
“So?”
“So—” The moment she opened her mouth, he closed the distance and sealed his lips to hers. Her resistance softened. Soon enough, she seemed to have no willpower at all.
He lifted her to the cool granite countertop, wedging his hips between her knees. Her legs naturally wrapped around him, her ankles locking at his back as he ground into her. Deep, slow kisses cast a spell as liquid fire burned low in her belly. His hands roamed down her back, trailed up her spine, and tangled in her hair. Only when she felt him loosening his belt did reality set back in.
“Peter.” She nudged him.
The twins were grinning, and Tate was flushed. Cassian’s broad shoulders moved with every heavy breath while Nibbs bit his lip. Bayne was the only one who glared but they all made her uncomfortable.
“Peter, we have to stop.”
“No, we don’t.”
Her face flushed as she clumsily made eye contact with Tate. “Yes, we do.” This time, she shoved him back with more firmness and quickly scooted off the counter, carefully keeping her gaze down until her embarrassment abated. “The soup’s about—Hey!”
The room turned upside down as she was scooped off her feet and thrown over Peter’s shoulder. “The soup can wait.”
He carried her through the house to a room she hadn’t seen yet. A door slammed behind them, and he tossed her onto a plush bed of deep green blankets and soft, velvet pillows. He grabbed her ankle and tugged her to the edge, causing her shirt to rise to her ribs.
“Peter, wait.”
His shirt came off, and he was on top of her once more, kissing her in an attempt to confuse or silence her objections.
“Peter—”
“Shhh.”
She shoved an arm into his neck and turned her face away. “Peter, wait.”
“Why?” He unzipped his pants.
“Hold on!” She scrambled back the moment she felt the heat and weight of his arousal against her bare thigh. “P-put that away.”
He frowned and sat back, stroking himself almost performatively. “Why?”
“Because we’re moving too fast.”
“Who says?”
“I do, for one.”
He rolled his eyes. “I thought you wanted to have fun.”
“I do. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to have sex with you.”
He laughed dryly as if stunned. “Wendy, I thought I made it clear that I intend to fuck you.”
The crude shift in his language diminished her arousal, and she scowled. “Well, you don’t always get what you want.”
He laughed again. “Uh, yeah, I do.”
“Not with me.”
He paused as if this were the first time he heard the word no. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” She shoved down her shirt. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
She wasn’t sure when her mind had changed, but sometime in the course of the last few hours, it became abundantly clear that Peter was the love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy. She didn’t need a betrothal, but she certainly needed to feel like more than an impulse that would likely be forgotten the moment he finished.
He rolled his eyes as if his judgment could further cave her will. That sort of manipulation might work with other women, but for her, it only further detracted from his attractiveness. She crossed her arms over her chest and met his challenging stare with an unbudging one of her own.
He climbed off the bed and put on his shirt. “Whatever.”
Uncertainty nipped at her courage when he opened the door. “Where are you going?”
“Out. If you’re not going to fuck me, I’ll find someone who will.”
Her jaw went slack, and he left her in the empty room. Her shock might have made her cry if she weren’t so furious. He was going out to fuck another woman? While she was still here?
She should be grateful she was learning who he really was before things went too far, but somehow, his rejection still caused an ache in her chest. What if she was making an enemy of an ally she needed? She was still at his mercy and reliant on his cooperation to get home.
She scowled, her inner turmoil jerking her thoughts about in an infuriating manner. What sort of gentleman behaved in such a way to his guest? Peter was no gentleman at all. He was a scoundrel and a spoiled whore.