Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“I’m not a thing,” he whispers. “I’m a man.”
“Debatable.”
Fire burns hot in his eyes. “Because I wear eyeliner—”
I press my thumb against his mouth hard enough to smother his words and shake my head. “No, because you’re prey. A plaything. A delicacy on the menu. Boy.”
“Pervert.”
“You have no fucking idea.”
“I should leave.” He threatens, but we both know he won’t. Not now.
“You should. Safer out there than with me. I’m the villain.”
“You’re a cop. Antihero suits you better.”
“And you’re the crime I commit.”
“There’s no crime with fucking an eighteen-year-old boy,” he taunts, wickedness gleaming in his hazel orbs. “But at your age, I think they call it desperation.”
“Desperation.” I slide my palm to his throat, enjoying the rapid thumping of his pulse. “You know all about desperation. Or, you will. When I have you tied to my bed desperate to come. A man my age will be who you want to bring you to orgasm.”
I lean forward to inhale the minty breath that feathers past his perfect lips. He flutters his eyes closed, so fucking desperate for my mouth on his. I love his bratty attitude. So full of sass. It makes me want to tease and taunt him and make him beg for…everything.
“When I kiss you,” I warn, “I’ll be staking a claim. That shit you do with your jealous boyfriend ends the second my tongue spears into your sexy-ass mouth. Are we clear?”
His tongue strokes along his lower lip, seductively drawing me closer. I want to suck on the sweet little thing. Steal his moans right from his troublesome mouth.
“I do what I want.”
“Not when you’re mine,” I rumble. “Then, you do what I want.”
“Who’d willingly agree to that?” he rasps out. “To be someone else’s bitch?”
“Not someone else’s bitch. My bitch.”
“Pass.”
“But you’ll look so pretty riding my dick, baby boy.”
“Fuck off.”
My fingers bite into his throat, clamping down on the veins pumping blood from his heart to his brain. I want to see his pink cheeks turn purple. I want to hear the sexy rasps coming from him as I stroke his cock to release.
“We’re inescapable,” I remind him. “Fight it all you want, but trust that you’ll end up here. Naked. In my bed. At my mercy. Bitch.”
“You’re a fucking prick.”
“Then why do you like me?” I throw back. “Why do you want me to talk to you this way?”
“I don’t,” he growls.
With my free hand, I palm his dick over his too-tight jeans. “Sure.”
He grips my wrist that’s holding his neck with one hand and the one cupping his dick with the other. It’s as though his intent is to pull me away, but his fingers dig into my muscled forearms, holding me there. I rub my thumb along his shaft while I run the other along the side of his neck. His entire body trembles as he attempts to suck in a labored breath.
“Life has been bleak,” I explain. “You said it yourself.”
He relaxes, his fiery gaze searching mine.
“It feels good to feel good.” I release my grip on his neck. “Are you going to stay in your dark little world, or are you going to let me lead the way?”
“Right into the lion’s den?” He scowls. “The lion bites.”
I grip his dick with an unrelenting hold. “He does. But, something tells me you like to be bitten.”
“You wouldn’t bite me.”
A challenge.
Dipping my head, I bypass his pretty mouth and brush my lips over the silky flesh of his neck. He whimpers. I run my tongue along the muscle. Then, I nip at the skin hard enough he punches my chest.
“Fucker!”
I suck the sore flesh into my mouth with enough force to leave a nasty bruise. With a grin, I release him to meet his indignant stare.
“When you’re ready, you know where I live,” I taunt, finally letting go of his cock. “Be ready to be played with.”
He rubs at his neck, glowering at me. “I’m not coming back.”
“You will.”
“You’re an arrogant piece of shit. I won’t.”
“Sure.”
His nostrils flare, and he shoves his middle finger in my face. “Find someone else to torment. I’m bored, old man.”
He storms away from me, snagging up his coat on the way to the front door. I smirk, enjoying his exaggerated, angry movements as he yanks it on. He rewards me with the middle finger again.
“Need a ride home?” I ask, quirking a brow.
“I don’t need anything from you.”
Liar.
He slams the door behind him. I follow his movement around the house and into the backyard. Easily, he scales the fence and hops over. A few seconds later, I see him on the back porch of his house. He turns as though he can feel my eyes on him. This time he gives me two middle fingers. I wave back at him.
Callan Kincaid is perfect.
I’m going to have him in every goddamn way possible.