Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
He puts the car in gear. “Next time, tell me where you’re going.”
“Are you tracking me now?”
“No, I’m making sure you’re safe, remember?”
“I didn’t realize you were going to be overprotective and controlling.” I sit back in the seat, frustrated and angry, though not really at him.
Mostly at myself. But I feel like taking it out on my husband.
“Let’s call it possessive.” He stares out the front window as he drives. “Your place is in my house now.”
“Let’s call it delusional instead.”
“Are we going to fight about every little thing?”
“Probably.”
“Wonderful. I’m sure you’ll want to fight when you’re dead, too.”
“You and I can bicker in heaven. Well, I’ll be there; I don’t know about you.”
He smirks and glances at me. “You think I’m such an evil man?”
“If the shoe fits. Or maybe I mean if the gun holster fits.” I eye the bulge under his jacket.
He laughs softly, shaking his head. “The world needs men like me, princess.”
“That’s what every asshole says.” I lean in close and put a hand on his thigh. He stiffens, lips pressing into a tight line. “Except most of them are too stupid to realize when they stop being the hero and turn into the villain.”
He says nothing. I leave my hand right there on his thigh, dangerously close to his big hard dick, mostly just to tease him, but also because I like it.
He’s attractive as hell. I can’t pretend otherwise. But for all my talk about villains and evil men, I find myself absolutely fascinated by my husband.
Maybe he’s a bad guy. But maybe I like bad guys.
“Either move your hand further up or sit back and put your damn seat belt on,” he snarls, fingers gripping the wheel, and I realize maybe I’m being a tad impulsive yet again.
“Yes, sir,” I say, clicking myself in.
“Good girl.” He glances in my direction. “Looks like I called your bluff.”
“Don’t be a child. There was no bluff.”
“Then climb in my lap right now. I’ll park the car and we can work on getting you pregnant.”
I sputter, laughing at the audacity. “Isn’t it dangerous out here?”
“You’re safe with me.”
“Yeah, right, I’m sure I’ll be safe with your dick between my legs.” I shiver at the thought.
He licks his lips. “That’s the safest place in the world for you: sweating and writhing in my lap.”
I roll my eyes and look out the window while inwardly my core’s throbbing with every massive beat of my heart.
This man’s got a dirty mouth and way too much confidence, and the worst part is, I think I like it.
Which is bad. The second this overprotective asshole realizes his whole dominant dickhead routine kind of works on me, he’s going to be absolutely insufferable.
Better keep these feelings to myself.
Chapter 16
Alexan
I get down on my knees in the closet and shift the massive safe into position. I keep thinking about Riley touching my leg yesterday, the little cocky smirk on her lips, the way it completely faded away when I called her bluff, and how she pretended like I didn’t exist for the rest of the night.
The woman’s going to kill me.
And not just because she got me involved with the Mantis.
I sit back on my haunches when I’m done and admire my handiwork. It’s not quite done—I need to bolt it to the floor—but for now, it’s fine. I stand and stretch, cracking my back, and saunter off to find my wife.
Riley’s in the kitchen cleaning her dishes from the last few nights. It takes all my willpower not to wash them myself, since she lets the stuff pile up in the sink until there’s basically no room left and she’s got no other choice. I wash my own and it wouldn’t be a huge deal, but to hell with that.
I already pick up after the girl. Random half-filled glasses, trash from deliveries, occasionally actual food caught between the couch cushions, her makeup left sprawled all over the bathroom sink. If I’m a little bit too obsessed with neatness, she’s a little too fascinated with her own dirty sprawl.
“Nothing I love more than a beautiful woman cleaning up after herself,” I purr as I breeze into the kitchen.
She shoots me a dirty look. “Don’t be sexist.”
“How’s that sexist?”
“You just want women to cook and clean. You know, barefoot and pregnant and in the kitchen where they belong.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Is that what I said?”
“It’s what you implied.”
I lean in closer and put a hand on the small of her back. When she tries to jerk away, I pin her against the counter with my body. “You’re so fucking wrong,” I say softly, glaring at her, annoyed that she thinks I’m just some idiot caveman that wants to shackle her up like some domestic sex slave.
“Sorry, but no part of me believes you.” She leans in close, pushing her hips into mine. “For example, you’re doing it right now.”