Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
"Daddy," she cries, and the pleasure is too much.
"You're so perfect. So fucking beautiful," I hiss, and the desperation is unlike anything I've ever felt.
"Don't," Iris says, pulling back, and the rejection hits hard.
"What? Why?" I hiss.
"You said it's just one more night. You can't say things like that," she says.
"Okay. Okay," I sigh, and when she's pressed against the mattress, my body covers hers. "You're right. But, fuck. It's not easy."
"I know," Iris whispers.
"Come on, baby. I'm here, and you're here, and right now, that's all that matters," I hiss, and the heat between us is making me crazy.
"One more night," Iris says.
"Yes," I moan, and the second her legs are around my waist, I slide inside.
"Oh, Daddy," she cries.
"Iris," I groan, and when her mouth's back on mine, the intensity is too much.
The moment is everything. The lights turn on, burning bright against Iris's pale skin, and when her hands pull at the bulbs, the heat is unlike anything I've ever known.
"Please," Iris cries.
"Tell me. Say it," I hiss, and the moment my hand lands on her ass, she screams.
"Daddy, fuck me," Iris whimpers, and the sound of her voice is almost enough to set me off.
"Fuck. Baby. You're so fucking tight. Your pussy feels so good," I growl, and when my mouth's back on hers, the pressure is too much.
"Harder," Iris cries, and when her nails dig into my skin, the pain is exquisite.
"You want it harder? You want Daddy to fuck your sweet pussy harder, baby?" I demand. "Spread your legs wider. Daddy's gonna take what he wants."
"Daddy," Iris hisses, and when the need's almost too much, I can't stop.
"Take it, baby," I hiss, and with one more thrust, the release is so strong, the room starts to spin. "Iris. Fuck."
"Merry Christmas," she whispers, and the words are like a punch in the gut "Ouch. These lights are hot."
"Let's get you out of them," I whisper, and the second the lights are off, she's pressed against the sheets.
"I love you, Viper," Iris says, and the sound of her voice is almost too much to handle.
"Baby," I whisper, and when her arms wrap around me, the moment's perfect.
The guilt in my chest is eating away at me, and the shame is almost too much to handle.
How many times have I fucked her now?
How many times have I kissed her...
Touched her.
Been inside her.
How many times have I told her she's perfect?
I'm such a bastard.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Iris
I wake to the soft glow of dawn filtering through unfamiliar curtains.
For a disorienting moment, I forget where I am.
Then I feel the warm, solid presence beside me, and everything comes rushing back.
Viper.
I turn my head slowly, careful not to disturb him.
He's sprawled on his back, one muscular arm flung above his head, the other resting across his bare chest.
The sheet has slipped down to his waist, revealing the intricate tapestry of tattoos covering his torso.
In sleep, his face is relaxed, softer somehow.
The hard edges and ever-present tension have melted away, leaving him looking younger, almost vulnerable.
God, he's beautiful.
I prop myself up on one elbow, drinking in the sight of him.
My eyes trace the strong line of his jaw, the full curve of his lips, the dark sweep of his lashes against his cheeks.
Even after everything we did last night, I still can't quite believe I'm here, in Vincent Beckett's bed yet again.
Viper—the man who's been haunting my dreams for weeks.
My best friend's father.
A convicted felon with danger written into every line of his body.
What the hell am I doing?
I push the thought away, not ready to deal with the tangled mess of emotions roiling inside me.
Instead, I focus on memorizing every detail of this moment.
The steady rise and fall of Viper's chest.
The faint scent of his cologne lingering on the pillow.
The play of early morning light across the planes of his face.
My fingers itch to trace the bold black lines inked into his skin, to map the contours of his body.
But I don't want to wake him.
Not yet.
So I content myself with looking, savoring this rare, unguarded version of him.
And I'm starting to realize I want all of him, complicated history and all.
Viper stirs slightly, a small furrow appearing between his brows.
I hold my breath, but he doesn't wake.
His breathing evens out again, deep and rhythmic.
I wonder what he's dreaming about.
What ghosts haunt his sleep after fifteen years behind bars?
Does he relive the moment that changed everything, the arrest that tore him away from his little girl?
Or has time softened those edges, letting him find moments of peace even in unconsciousness?
The urge to touch him grows stronger.
I want to smooth away that tiny frown, to chase away whatever shadows are flickering behind his closed eyelids.
But I resist, not wanting to break this spell just yet.
Instead, I let my mind wander back to last night.