Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
And he barely thought of anything else but how many ways he was going to fuck her that night.
If asked, he would have called it that he would hook up with a woman in the life. Like Snap did with Rosalie. Rosie’s dad was a biker, she knew their world and didn’t want to leave it.
He did not suspect he’d find someone like Tack found with Tyra or Hop found with Lanie, or even Joke found with Carissa.
He got his own version of that.
Rosalie could get dolled up and it’d be hot, in an objective way from Dutch’s point of view.
But she wouldn’t be caught dead in a dress that hinted at professional, was demure in almost every way, but in truth, was designed to drive a man out of his mind.
“If I had to endure the torture for days, you can do it for one dinner,” she declared.
“Babe, since we started to get busy, you’ve had five orgasms, sucked me off three times and got me off with a hand job. You’ve hardly gone wanting.”
“Mm,” she hummed again, squeezing his thigh.
He realized talking about this shit wasn’t helping.
He caught her hand when it shifted dangerously, and when he did, she said, “You give good date, Dutch Black.”
“I don’t know how you can think that. You turned me into that loser who can’t stop staring at a woman’s tits.”
“Honey.”
At her tone, horrified and remorseful, he glanced at her.
Which instantly turned him the latter.
“Babe, it wasn’t that bad,” he somewhat lied.
“I think you need to know something,” she told him.
“What?”
“That’s the best date I’ve ever been on.”
This, “What?” was surprised.
“You know, I’ve got a mirror, so I know conventionally, with the symmetry of my face and the thickness of my hair and whatnot, I’m considered attractive.”
Suddenly, at her detached and impartial assessment of her own looks, he wanted to laugh.
He didn’t and she kept going.
“That said, every girl who goes on a date with a guy she really, really,” she squeezed his hand, “likes, wants that guy to stare at her through the date like he can barely control himself from pouncing on her. Not only is it sexy as hell, it feels unbelievably nice.”
“Glad you enjoyed yourself,” he muttered.
“Sorry you didn’t,” she said. “That sucks.”
Well, shit.
“Georgiana.”
“Yes?”
“I’ll remember you sitting across from me in that red dress and how proud I felt that you were right there, with me, and you’d end the night in my bed and I’d end it in you, for the rest of my life.”
“Dutch,” she whispered.
“So don’t listen to my bullshit. I’m just impatient to get you home.”
“Then hurry,” she urged.
He was not about to get in a wreck that would end a fantastic day in blood and trauma, so he did not hurry.
He didn’t go slow either.
And outside Carolyn showing, and maybe even partially because of Carolyn showing and how that eased the mental load for Georgie, it had been a fantastic day.
They’d fooled around in bed all day, whispering to each other and dozing between times, getting out of it only to grab food and when it came time to get ready to go out to dinner.
Georgiana told him about her mother, who was definitely a mother. A woman who sounded dedicated to nothing but striving to mold her girls into physical perfection that would attract a man in a way he would not get shot of her.
Not surprisingly, that meant they had a strained relationship that included what amounted to duty visits and texts only, with the occasional dinner thrown in and the obligatory rotation of holidays between her and Georgie’s dad.
Dutch told her how Hound was his dad without being his dad, this not about blood, but about not hooking up with his mom until a few years ago.
She told him she was uncertain about the crime beat, because it required a fair amount of aggression and legwork, and she wanted something that was more about face-to-face interaction and research.
He admitted working in the shop wasn’t so bad, but there had been something about doing what he did for Carlyle that meant something to him and he’d have to think about that and what it meant because Chaos wasn’t about that. Not anymore. Every brother either worked the shop or worked in the garage. But Dutch was not into builds, or cars, though he was into bikes but only in the sense of riding them and knowing what he had to know to keep his running.
They’d also had the necessary conversation about birth control.
She told him she was on the Pill, hadn’t been “active” in a while, but she didn’t take anyone ungloved when she was. And he shared he never went in ungloved. When she learned that, she told him when they got there that night, she wanted nothing in between.
That was the obvious choice for him too, but he pushed the discussion so he could make certain she was totally on board with that.