Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“Was that rhetorical?” Morgan rasped, before shaking herself. “S-so this is totally a sex thing? B-because…” A shudder wracked her. “I think that’s what I’m most afraid of, man. You’re like the biggest Viking that ever Viking’d.” She shook harder. “And I’ve never…I’ve never done this. Or anything like it. Oh my God.”
“Virgin,” he rasped, his balls tightening all the more. Possession burning through his blood. “You’ve never had a man.”
“What tipped you off?”
Rixen glimpsed his house in the distance, outlined by the moonlight glinting off the water. Pride welled in his chest to be bringing home his mate. Any minute now, they would step over the threshold. “I’ve been waiting for my angel, and you arrive to me pure. Innocent of any touch but mine. And still you have doubts that you were chosen for me?”
She sighed up at the sky. “Oh, you’re a chauvinist, too? That’s just the icing on the cake.” Rixen didn’t know the word chauvinist, so he stayed quiet. “What about me? Don’t you care if you were chosen for me?”
“Ah but I was, Morgan.” Rixen climbed the porch of his home and kicked open the door. “I come to you pure, too.”
Chapter 3
Morgan
No way this rough-hewn bayou man was a virgin, just like Morgan. No. Way.
Granted, he wasn’t attractive in the classical sense. He was filthy and his hair hadn’t been brushed since the Obama administration. But he was built like a freaking skyscraper. If he wanted to get laid, there had to be some swamp girls who’d be down to hit that, right? She didn’t have a vast knowledge of backwoods America, but a man who could provide and protect in this kind of environment had to be a commodity.
And had Rixen seemed a little…embarrassed when he’d admitted to being a virgin?
Just like that, Morgan was relating to a man who’d made an alligator his bitch.
Oh God, how long did it take for Stockholm syndrome to set in? Was she setting a record here for feeling sympathy for her captor? No. No, be strong, girl. Don’t look at the prideful set of his chin and wonder if maybe, just maybe, this man really wanted nothing more than to cherish her with his tongue and some squirrel stew.
Didn’t matter. She wasn’t sticking around. Maybe if she could lull the giant into a false sense of security, she could run for the hills once his big, broad back was turned.
“Hey, uh…”
Morgan trailed off when Rixen carried her over the threshold of his one-story cabin—the symbolism of which was not lost on her—and set her down. A muted glow emanated from a gas lamp in one corner of the room, casting dancing shadows over…the most glorious room she’d ever seen in her life. Thanks to her rich parents who’d spent years trying to outdo each other, she’d seen some swank hotels and fancy vacation rentals in her time. But this rustic retreat put them all to shame.
Embers twinkled in a broad-mouthed fireplace, cushy animal pelts lining the floor in front of it, just begging to be napped on. Book shelves curved in patterns along every wall, as if following a loopy, lazy cursive. A huge picture window took up almost the entire wall opposite the fireplace, looking out over the moonlit water. And the furniture. It looked ready to swallow her whole and never let her up, its comfort was so obvious without even touching it.
Morgan turned to find Rixen watching her from beneath weighted eyelids. An enormous erection tented the lap of his grimy overalls, tension rippling in his gladiator muscles. Despite her limited experience, she knew this was a man in desperate need of relief. Wet spots dotted one denim leg and they continued to spread the longer they regarded each other across the living room. Unbelievably, Morgan found her breath coming faster, her nipples beading inside the triangles of her bathing suit top. What was happening to her? Was something about restraint in the face of his obvious hunger making her hot?
Rixen approached slowly. Here it was. The moment he threw her down and used her body like a sex doll, no regard for her screaming, searing pain.
But instead, Rixen took her hand and guided her into a bathroom, lighting another gas lamp once inside. With the effort it takes to flip a book page, Rixen lifted her onto the sink, putting her face on level with his hairy, muscle-swelled pecs.
“Does it hurt, my gift?”
“A little,” she whispered, shocked at her desire to comb through that coarse hair with her fingers. “Do you have modern medicine out here?”
“I have everything you need,” he said without missing a beat, lifting her ankle in a rough, callused hand. “Anything you want that I don’t have, I won’t rest until I get it.”
“Oh.” Morgan swallowed. “Cool, cool.”