Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
I swallow thickly and before I can think about it, my hands move, my arms wind around his neck, and my fingers, bloody and all, fist his hair. I don’t know why I do that. It’s the opposite of what I should be doing, but I can’t help it. I can’t help but wrap my arms around him because he just told me his dream.
It was his dream, wasn’t it, his future that got interrupted.
God, I wish I knew why.
I wish I knew why he did what he did. Why he thinks love is an animal that kills you. I haven’t forgotten about it, the words he said to me at dinner. I wonder if love has anything to do with his thirst for revenge.
He finally looks up, breaking whatever moment we were sharing, and brings us back to the present. With him on top of me, keeping me trapped, refusing to let me go. And I resume my struggles, twisting under him, trying to get away.
“But that’s not here or there. The point is, even though I haven’t been a cowboy in a very long time,” he says, his body just as dense and heavy over me, “any cowboy worth a damn knows that there ain’t no tamin’ a wild little filly with a lasso. You wanna get her in hand, you gotta let her ride and get it out of her system.”
My breaths scatter. “What does… what does that mean?”
His eyes glitter. “You don’t want me to drug you, do you?”
My arms around his neck flex. “What? No. No, please. You—”
“And like I said, ropin’ you like a wild little filly hasn’t worked either.”
I go to take my arms away from his neck and put some distance between us, but he sinks into me more. Making me realize he was still keeping a part of himself away from me. But not anymore.
I can feel it.
That part, the one I wanted to feel earlier in the day, back when we were riding. And holy shit, I was right. It’s hard. Harder than those ridges of his abs. And it’s big. Although I don’t think I imagined it to be this big. Or thick. Or that it’d be throbbing. There’s a distinct pulse that I feel on my tummy, and something inside of me, some primitive feminine part, makes me arch up into it.
“So if I wanna keep you, I’m gonna let you ride,” he drawls.
“Ride?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What?”
“My mouth.”
“I… What?”
He licks his lips then, as if highlighting them, making them all shiny so I can’t look anywhere else but at his mouth. And he’s successful, because for the life of me, that’s all I see.
“You want that, don’t you?” he goes.
Still staring at his mouth, I shake my head. “No.”
His shiny, dusky-pink mouth tips up. “Well, you’re right. My bad.”
My gaze skitters up. “I’m right?”
“Yeah,” he says, staring into my eyes. “You are. You don’t want to ride my mouth. You want somethin’ else.”
“What?” I ask, staring back, barely aware of what I’m saying.
“Judging by how you’re attempting to give me another desperate and horny lap dance, I’m gonna say you wanna ride the heat I’m packin’ in my pants.”
And I stop. Because this is when I realize I’ve been moving against him. All this time, I’ve been rocking against that hard thing stabbing my tummy. My feet are hooked around his thighs and I’m almost off the ground, hanging onto him like a desperate, horny girl, but I’m not. I’m absolutely, one hundred percent not horny or desperate.
This is not me at all. This has never been me.
I shake my head again. “No, I—”
He cuts me off with, “And you’re doin’ a good job too.” His voice is thick and heavy, just like this thing on my belly that I can’t even think of the proper name for. “Way better than what you did this mornin’. Guess it pays to be desperate, huh? You keep that up and you’re lookin’ at a huge tip.”
“Tip?”
“Yeah,” he keeps rasping, and I think he’s doing it on purpose because his voice is slowly driving me crazy. “And by that I meant cash. Not the other kind.”
“What’s the other kind?”
His lips twitch and something wicked passes through his features. “The tip of my big, hard cock.” I flinch, but before I can do anything, he goes on, “Because the thing is you can’t have it.”
His words give me a pause. “Why not?”
“Because you’re a Turner, remember?” he says, his eyes dark and flashing. “And I don’t stick my dick in a Turner.”
Right, of course. He told me that this morning. And for some reason, I have to bite my lip really, really hard so I don’t spill out the truth. Especially when after declaring that rule, he rocks his dick—oh God, just the thought of it makes me blush—into me. And he does it in a way that, despite everything, I can’t help but rock back. Since this time I’m doing it more consciously, I feel something else. I feel another throb and not just the one on my belly due to his thick length.