Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Instead of storming down the hall and ripping her out of her room to do all the terrible and wonderful things to her, I had to settle for the fantastic blow job in the shower.
My dick jolts to life thinking about it. She was like an angel on her knees. So innocent, yet she had this fire in her eyes that told me she wanted all the dirty things. Fuck, I wanted to paint her face white. Beautify her with my cum. I’d planned on it, too, but I hadn’t been able to stop. My cock wanted more of her mouth. Her tongue. The back of her sweet throat.
It’s a shame this is all it will be. I slipped up. That’s on me. There’s no way I’m falling down the rabbit hole of young, off-limits pussy. Even if my filthy mind hasn’t stopped fantasying about fucking her over and over.
I hear another door slam, the sound coming from farther down the hall. Had Noah been in her room? Had he slept in there again? A ping of jealousy runs through me. I wash my hands and exit my en suite. I walk past Georgia’s room and stop at Noah’s door, pounding my fist on it.
“I’m busy—”
I open the door and find him by his dresser, slipping on a pair of slacks. “What the fuck?”
“Watch your mouth,” I growl at him. He buttons his pants and reaches for his shirt when I notice the dark maroon on his neck. “Is that a fucking hickey?”
“Mind your own fucking business.”
My anger spikes to an unhealthy level. “I told you, separate rooms.” His girlfriend is a hungry little thing. Two men in the same night. My fists clench at my sides.
“Don’t worry. This ain’t from Georgia. That prude bitch wouldn’t—”
My strides eat up the space between us, and I shove him against his dresser. “You will not disrespect any woman in my house. Are we clear?”
His gaze hardens as anger radiates off him. The weight of my words settles heavily in my chest. I have no room to talk.
“Ahhh, you’re a hypocrite now.”
“That shit was a long damn time ago, Noah. And nothing’s ever as black and white as you think it is. Maybe when you finally grow the hell up, you’ll understand why some truths are better buried.” I release him and step away. “Cover that shit up.” Without another glance, I walk out of his room.
After taking a business call in my study, I walk into the kitchen. Georgia leans against the sink, drinking a cup of coffee, while Noah is at the table eating a bowl of cereal and swiping through shit on his phone.
“Morning.” Georgia’s gaze meets mine, and a flush creeps up her cheeks, her lips parting slightly.
Noah doesn’t bother looking up from his phone.
I step toward the coffee machine, grabbing a mug as I move past her, deliberately brushing against her arm. The slightest tremor runs through her—so subtle, most wouldn’t notice. But I do. The way her fingers tighten around her glass, the sharp inhale she tries to disguise. If I weren’t so attuned to a woman’s reactions, I might have missed it. But I don’t.
Pouring myself a cup, I take a seat at the table. As much as I want to fuck with Georgia, the memory of him finding us in the pool last night has me shutting down any games. “Noah, I want you home tonight. I’d like us to spend some time together. We can all go out to dinner, watch some—”
“I’ve got plans.”
“Cancel them.”
He discards his phone, bringing his scowling eyes to mine. “No can do. But I’m sure Georgia’s free.” He adjusts his body to face her. “Right, babe?”
She takes a sip of her coffee and dumps the rest in the sink. “Please, talk to me when you don’t reek of tequila and cheap perfume,” she fires back. “So glad you’re not my problem anymore.” Then, without missing a beat, she looks straight at me. “Mr. Blake, would you mind giving me a ride to work today?”
I suppress the smirk threatening to creep across my lips. Ballsy little thing.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Noah’s reaction. His jaw tightens, grinding like he’s biting back words. Then his fist slams against the table, the sharp crack cutting through the room as he shoves back and shoots to his feet.
“You’re a bitch. Maybe you should think about going the fuck home. You’re not wanted here.” I fight not to get up and punch my son square in the goddamn jaw, allowing him to storm off. I wait for the front door to slam shut before bringing my eyes to Georgia. I expect to see a broken girl wounded by the hurtful shit my son spewed. Instead, I see anger. No tears. Just a fire blazing behind her hazel eyes.