Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
And yet I can’t help but cross my arms over my chest and smirk at the sight. It’s a novelty, really. She’s the first person I’ve ever seen bake anything. My biological mother could hardly put food in our mouths because she was so fucked up on drugs, and our adoptive mother, Anya Ivanov, would somehow turn the smooth-edged utensil used to ice a cake into a weapon. Anya is crafty as fuck when it comes to killing someone, but she’s definitely not a baker.
I wouldn’t let just anyone in my home. In fact, my brother is the only other person who has a key and has been in here. But ever since I met her when she was twelve and I was fifteen, Billie has always had this ability to include and welcome herself into any situation or group. It’s been almost eleven years since then, and in many ways, it hasn’t changed.
“I didn’t know you’d be in town this week,” I say.
Billie jumps back, clutching her chest. “Oh, for the love of fuck, Ford, announce yourself when you’re here.”
“In my own home?”
She glares at me, and I don’t think she realizes she has flour across her cheek. Instead of a smart-ass retort, she breaks out into the brightest fucking smile. “Hello to you.” She nods to the cake on the counter. “Dutton’s not in town, and I’m bored. I figure you’d have the cure to that. So, while I waited, I baked you a honey cake. I know how much you love them.”
I do. I really fucking love her honey cakes. I step toward her and crowd her from behind, placing one hand on her hip. My cock is already twitching at the promise of being inside her. My other hand reaches for the icing.
She slaps my hand away. “You savage! Let me cut a piece for you.”
My grip tightens on her hip as I pull her ass against my cock. “I’m an impatient man, Billie, especially when it comes to sweets.” She chuckles as she cuts a piece of the cake, purposely rubbing her ass against my now fully-erect cock. This fucking woman is my addiction. I only get sporadic hits of her, which makes me more voracious every time.
She allows me to grab the piece she cut, and she laughs as crumbs drop all over the floor. “How do you manage to stay so fit when you have such a sweet tooth?”
“I like to fuck,” I tell her around a mouthful, and the humor in her expression dies. I wonder if she’s thinking about all the other women I could potentially be fucking. Putting her out of her misery, I add, “You.”
She releases a breath, and I don’t think she even knows she was holding it.
I didn’t think after the first time I had her that I wouldn’t want to touch another woman again. It’s not that women haven’t offered me companionship, but it feels so meaningless to me. I get off on the buildup of not having Billie all the time and waiting for my next fix. The rush of fucking her and pleasing her in ways I know no other man can or has.
We don’t message or have deep conversations; we keep it strictly what it is—fucking.
So I’m more than happy to continue what we’re doing together because we both understand that this can’t and won’t be more. We are just two people from the same world who enjoy each other’s company and bodies. And, fuck, do I love her body. It’s like she was perfectly carved by a master artist. I love to run my tongue over every inch of her, tasting her.
Her skin is smooth, her floral perfume is sweet, and she’s everything I’m not. She’s a ray of fucking sunshine, and I’m attracted to it like a moth to a flame. And I have to remind myself not to break her for it. Someone like me lives in the shadows, and I think that’s exactly why she keeps coming back. That and any other man who tries to touch her is usually not smart enough to avoid her brother’s attention and ends up…out of commission.
Hell, I’ve helped him deal out clear messages to two men in the last six months. If only he knew I was actually the one fucking his sister.
My cock is getting harder just thinking about it, but when she turns, and her lips are inches from mine, I have to restrain myself. Kissing is something I don’t do. I’m not the dating or boyfriend type, and she doesn’t come here for romance.
“Billie,” I growl as I finish polishing off the slice of honey cake and then step back. As I do, I start unbuttoning my shirt. She watches me hungrily, her perfect little apron covering her clothes so they don’t get dirty. But I plan to get her very fucking dirty. “Put the icer down.”