Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
One thing everyone does know: he’s my ride or die and I’m his, and we’re both protected in every way imaginable.
With the rec room on the second floor only a threshold away, he bends down and kisses me. “I wish I could take you back to bed,” he murmurs, his voice throaty and laced with sin and sex appeal.
A shiver runs through my body and travels lower, bringing a blush to my cheeks.
“You should,” I tease him, nipping his bottom lip. I’d fuck him all night, every night. On more than one occasion we’ve fooled around till dawn. Nothing is better. He knows my body, every inch of it and every secret. Cillian’s my first, and I don’t want any other men.
“You want to turn back then and not go to Sunday dinner?”
“Yeah,” I say and capture my bottom lip between my teeth before adding playfully, “Let’s go before anyone sees us.” Tugging on his hand is useless and I already know it’s not going to happen.
Every Sunday, we have to be here for dinner. No exceptions. After all, it’s both a family and MC occasion.
He laughs and with his gaze lifting past me to the threshold, he seems to consider it. The rough pad of his thumb glides along the stubble on his chin before he looks back down at me, a wanting look I know well in his light blue gaze. “They’d wonder where we went. They’d talk about us.”
“Who cares?” I slip my arms under his leathers and tug at the fabric, making my desire known as I slide my fingers up his back. “They already talk about us.”
If our fathers weren’t in charge, the whispers would be heard far more often. I don’t care what people say. I only want Cillian. Everything I dreamed of in high school is right there in his eyes. Our whole future.
“After dinner. I promise,” he tells me with a handsome but cocky grin. “I’ll take you back to bed after dinner.”
The tip of my nose nudges against his as I let out a small moan of protest; it’s nearly a mewl of want. Cill’s deep groan as he backs me up to the wall and lowers his lips to mine forces a simper to my lips that grows into a full-blown smile as he kisses down my neck. His rough stubble and roaming hands are everything I want and need.
Just as my head falls back and my breathing turns heavy, Cill backs away and then cracks a smirk at my mouth opening in protest and disbelief.
He chuckles at me and I smack his chest. “After dinner, Hellcat.”
Swatting my ass, he keeps me moving and I don’t miss a beat, getting on my tiptoes to nip his lower lip.
The guys are already gathering in the rec room and someone must catch a glimpse of us because they call out for Cill. A low groan of annoyance leaves me and Cillian gives me a rough chuckle in response. It’s like one big family, and I love that too. One big happy family with Cillian’s dad in charge after mine handed him a business deal he couldn’t refuse. I don’t know exactly what they do, and if I’m honest, I don’t want to. Cill says not to worry; my father tells me to do as I’m told and not ask questions. All in all, I’m aware they go out on runs for weeks at a time. When they leave, Cill is anxious and calls me every night. When they come home, he can’t keep his hands off me.
He’s loyal to me and all Cill’s ever asked is for me to stay loyal to him, to trust him and not to worry. I’ll take that response over my father’s any day.
There’s already a crowd in the rec room, the chatter intensifying as we walk in and Reed, his best friend, greets us with a tip of his chin, a smile on his face. He looks like the cat that ate the canary and I wonder what he knows.
My mind slips back to what I thought Cill said last night. I could have sworn he mentioned marriage. It seems silly to be nervous like I am for him to ask, since we both know we’re meant to be married. But he hasn’t yet and every day that passes by, I know he’s going to ask soon. I feel it in the pit of my stomach.
“You want a beer from the back?” Reed questions, gesturing to the other side of the floor.
“Hell yeah,” Cill answers and I nod too. I’m only eighteen and Cill’s nineteen, but liquor has always flowed easily for us here. Maybe that’s another reason I prefer this place to home.
Part of this open space is an expansive kitchen, separated from the rest by a countertop, and there are leather couches, an old coffee table and a professional pool table on the other end. The rack is on the table next to some chalk, but the cues are hung up because no one’s playing right now.