Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
I quickly scale the fire escape of her building. As my hands grip the steel bars, the irony is not lost on me. Twenty minutes ago, I was ready to kill this woman. Now I’m breaking into her apartment because I can’t stand the thought of someone hurting her.
That’s it. I’ve lost my mind.
When I reach her window, everything slows down. There she is. Only a few feet away. And not seen through my scope. She twists slightly on her bed, and I start salivating.
I’m just gonna warn her. That’s it.
I slide the window open carefully. She’s already going to freak out when she sees me. No need to terrify her.
As I slide into her room, the sweetest of scents hits my nose. A mixture of everything girly: perfume, shampoo, soap, scented candles. And beneath all that, the pheromones that light my primal instincts on fire. Her pussy.
The floor creaks beneath me, and Annie turns. This close, her beauty is even more devastating. For a second, I forget why I’m here. But when she sees me, her eyes go wide, and she rockets to her feet like she’s going to run.
I leap in front of her, blocking the door.
“Wait,” I say. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Her face is tight, and her eyes are wide, but as she looks me over, something changes. Her lips part, and a soft red floods her cheeks. Is she blushing? Her gaze moves over my shoulders, lingers on my chest, then drifts down to my hands. And that’s when the realization hits me.
It can’t be…she wants me too.
Oh, fuck.
2
ANNIE
I’m shaking. There’s a strange man standing in my bedroom.
He’s enormous, at least a foot taller than me, with linebacker shoulders and a jaw that looks like it was carved from granite. He’s dressed in all black, but I can tell he’s built from ropes of muscle. And despite his flat expression, there’s something severe about him.
Compared to the boys my age, he looks like a warrior. Salt and pepper gray by his temples, rough hands, and something so masculine about him that I can’t put into words.
My God, he’s like a man out of one of my books…
The skin at the corner of his left eye twitches. He’s staring at me like I’m the dangerous one in the room. My heart pounds like a drum as I stand in front of him, wearing nothing but my soaked panties and a vintage T-shirt. Born to Read, Forced to Work. God, why couldn’t I be wearing my Tom Petty one?
A sharp gasp hits me as a thought enters my mind.
Did he just see what I was doing?
But almost in response, this man—whoever he is—drags his eyes across my body and licks his lower lip. Yeah, he saw me. He definitely saw me.
I should be horrified. Any normal girl would be. But I’m not exactly…normal.
The thought of him watching me touching myself while reading one of my many erotic novels deepens my blush, but in a good way.
Something electric sizzles through me. My toes and fingertips tingle.
I was just reading a scene like this. What are the chances? My favorite trope: a woman caught in a vulnerable position by a dangerous older man. He has his way with her because he knows the woman secretly wants it. She’s not as innocent as she looks.
I must have touched myself thousands of times to scenes like that. But fiction is fiction, and reality is reality. Never in my wildest dreams did I think something like that could actually happen to me.
But here he is. A real man in my bedroom standing over me.
He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t touched me. And yet this is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.
Way hotter than any of the lame guys who ever tried to get into my pants. The few from school I went on dates with, maybe kissed a few times before being utterly disappointed. The one boyfriend I had for a few weeks before I got bored. He was nice, but he was just…boring.
I can’t even remember his name now.
For a while, I thought my naughty book habit had ruined romance for me. Ruined the desire for real sex. I mean, if my friends ever saw my reading history, their jaws would hit the floor.
But now, as I look at the monstrous, ruggedly handsome man standing in front of me with his bulging chest and knife-like cheekbones, I realize the truth.
I’m not ruined; I’m just specific.
“Who are you?” I ask.
The man’s lips part. He pauses. “Roman.”
“Roman what?” I reply.
“Graves.”
Despite the severity of the situation, I actually laugh. Seriously? The gigantic, terrifying, brutally sexy man who just broke into my bedroom is named Roman Graves? My Kindle’s algorithm couldn’t have invented a better man for me.
My thighs are scorching. I just had a really great orgasm, but I’m already getting horny again. And by the look on his face now and the obvious bulge in his jeans, so is he.