Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
I could always . . .
I down the rest of my drink. Fuck it. I’m going to act impulsively for once in my life. Before I chicken out, I take his hand and lead him to my dressing room.
The space is small, cluttered with costumes and makeup, but it’s private. As soon as the door clicks shut behind us, Blue pushes me against it, his body pressing into mine. His lips crash against my neck, beard tickling my skin as he trails kisses down to my collarbone.
“Tell me,” he groans against my skin, “what’s a beautiful girl like you doing with a man like me?”
I laugh breathlessly. “Looking for trouble, it seems.”
He pulls back, his gaze connecting with mine. “That’s the answer I was hoping for.”
In one swift motion, he lifts me up, my legs wrapping around his waist. He carries me to the small couch in the corner, laying me down with surprising gentleness. But there’s nothing gentle about the way he looks at me, like a predator eyeing its prey.
I reach up, running my fingers through his beard. “So, Mr. Blue, are you going to show me if the carpet matches the drapes?”
He smirks, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “Patience, my songbird. Good things come to those who wait.”
As he reveals more skin, I see tattoos peeking out from beneath his clothes. Intricate designs that seem to shift and move in the dim light of the dressing room.
He’s marking every single box on my must-need sexy checklist.
✔ Yes.
✔ Yes.
✔ Yes.
✔ Yes, please!
In one fluid motion, he sheds his shirt completely. The tattoos cover his entire torso, a tapestry of chaotic colors.
He leans down, capturing my lips in a searing kiss. His tongue explores my mouth, tasting of whiskey and something darker, more primal. I moan against him, my fingers tracing the living artwork on his chest.
As we kiss, I feel a strange tingling sensation where my skin meets his tattoos. It’s as if they’re reaching out to me, trying to pull me in. The room starts to spin, and suddenly I’m not sure if it’s from desire or something more sinister.
“Wait,” I gasp, breaking the kiss. “I need to know . . . are you going to kill me?”
He pulls away, visibly stunned but only for a split second. “Do you ask all the men you’re with this question?”
I freeze for a moment, not wanting to reveal that I’ve never done anything like this before in my life. One-night stands have never been my jam, but I’m enjoying this ruse of being daring, bold, and spontaneous.
“Only the interesting ones,” I reply with an impish raise of my lip, my fingers still tracing the tattoos on his chest. The tingling sensation intensifies, and I can’t tell if it’s excitement or fear surging through my body.
He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. “Oh, I do want to devour you. But killing you? That would be such a waste.”
His hand slides up my thigh, pushing my dress higher. “I have much more . . . entertaining plans for you.”
I reach out and place my hand on his lower abdomen. “Maybe I have plans for you.”
“Are you going to kill me?” he asks.
I laugh, a husky sound that echoes in the small dressing room. “Maybe. But first . . .” I reach for the button of his pants.
With deft fingers, I undo his fly, sliding my hand inside. My breath catches as I feel him, hot and hard against my palm. And there, in the dim light of the dressing room, I see it—a faint blue shimmer amidst the dark curls.
“Well, well,” I murmur, stroking him slowly. “Looks like Mr. Blue is full of surprises.”
He groans, his hips bucking against my hand. “You have no idea, little songbird.”
Suddenly, he grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head with one large hand. His other hand slides up my thigh, pushing my dress higher until it’s bunched around my waist.
His fingers then hook into the lace of my panties and pull it aside. When his mouth finds my pussy, I gasp and my hips jerk off the couch.
“Look at me,” he says against my skin.
I force my eyes open. He’s watching me while his tongue works, and something about that eye contact makes everything more intense. His beard scrapes against my thighs—rough, then soft, then rough again.
“Blue,” I manage to say.
He makes a sound low in his throat that I feel more than hear. He releases my hands and grips my thighs hard enough to leave marks, spreading me wider. Whatever restraint he had before is gone now. This is hungry and desperate and nothing like I expected.
When he pushes two fingers inside and curls them, I come hard. My back arches and I actually cry out—loud enough that someone in the club definitely heard.