Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
I put a hand on James’s shoulder. I can’t help but grin at this whole fucking situation.
Now I get right up in Tito’s face, grinning no more. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Tomorrow morning, all the shit that’s been stolen is going to appear back outside the Foster Garage before we open up. Got it?”
Tito swallows hard. “Yeah.”
I nod. “Same for the other shops. Not a single fucking needle-nose pliers is going to be forgotten. Am I right?”
“Right.”
“Otherwise the cops are going to show up and make your life an absolute pile of flaming dogshit. That’s if you’re lucky and they get there before me.”
Tito nods and blinks in shit-scared terror. I grab the toolbox from by the door as a down payment, then nod to James. He narrows his eyes at me. Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but he’s not throwing punches.
It’s a start.
Daphne tugs on my arm. The warmth of her body, her scent, her softness. Fuck. All the fight just drains right out of me. I slip my arm over her shoulder, pulling her next to me as James looks on.
“We should go,” I tell them both.
The three of us make our way out into the parking lot, under clear cold skies. James stops before we get to the car.
“Wait just a second,” James says. “Are we going to talk about this?”
I glance at Daphne. I can still feel her wetness on my balls. “Talk about what?”
James scoffs. “You better make this right.” He looks from me to Daphne, then back. “I’m not going to run and rat you out to my folks, but you better be a man.” He pauses, setting his jaw before he finishes. “You hurt my sister, I’ll kill you.”
I press a kiss to the side of her head, savoring this moment. Savoring her. Cherishing her—my one and only. “If I ever hurt your sister, you won’t have to.”
CHAPTER 10
Daphne
One Week Later
Tears slip down my cheeks as my body shudders.
Another tongue twister in the books.
God, this man’s mouth is everything.
Dutch’s hands are tight on my waist as he finishes me off, eating my pussy like a maestro through the last of my third orgasm this morning.
Between the first and second, he cooked eggs, bacon and made me coffee, which I will need because sneaking into the little house after midnight every night this week and then sneaking back into my bedroom before appearing for breakfast as if nothing ever happened is making sleeping hours slim.
On top of that, Dutch and I don’t really sleep.
Maybe I pass out for an hour or two here and there, but otherwise, Jesus, he knows how to keep a girl up if you know what I mean. We’re still in the kitchen, I’m laid out on the little linoleum table like a buffet and that’s exactly what it feels like.
Dutch is groaning and moaning his own satisfaction when the top of the orgasm hits.
Hard.
The climax reverberates through me like an earthquake and I hear Dutch’s chuckle as I beg him for mercy. Orgasms are bliss, sure, but there’s a tipping point—which he loves to toy with—where they become painful. One is amazing, two is nirvana, three…I’m still riding the wave.
Four, uhhh, ouch a little bit.
“My clit,” I moan, pushing at his head, but his hands only tighten on my waist as he flicks the tip of his tongue against me.
“Fuuuuck. Dutch! Enough. Please.” I’m flat out whining now but he doubles down, tongue and lips, and I start to thrash.
“I need a second.” Screaming now, my throat is raw and it’s hard to believe James and my parents can’t hear us from the house even in their sleep.
I’m twisting, kicking, bucking and slapping at him as his tongue slips inside me, drawing out orgasm number six as the room goes dark.
Stars dance behind my lids as I come back to this world and I wonder how long I was out.
Dutch is standing next to the table, naked in all his majesty, holding a glass of apple juice because orange juice gives me the hives. It’s in one of the travel cups he got for me with ‘Doll’ written on the side in pink letters with a straw sticking out of the top.
“Drink.” He holds the straw to my lips as his other hand rests on my thigh, warm and heavy, telling me in one of his thousand little ways, you’re mine. “You’re dehydrated. That sweet pussy fountain’s been pretty fucking generous this morning.”
“Mhum,” I answer as I gulp down the sweet liquid, feeling the coolness all the way down into my stomach.
Yesterday, we went to see his sister. I really liked her. Strong, tough, but caring. Two things were clear from the moment we stepped in through her doorway. First, that she was deeply hurt by the way he’d treated her—she didn’t know if she was ever going to see him again in her life. And second, she never stopped loving him.