Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
He lets the fucking thing ring and comes back, kneeling between my legs, and grabbing my hips, yanking me down. I should just tell him to mute it, but I can’t wait.
“I kind of wish those rumors they say about me were true,” he says. “If you’d been submitted to me at eighteen, I would never have let anyone else have you.”
He presses the head of his cock to my entrance, leans over me, and thrusts. I cry out, tipping my head back as he stretches me and fills, thrusting deeper every time.
“Fuck,” he whispers, pinning my wrists above my head again. “I would’ve kept you for me.”
I roll my hips, searching for his mouth, neither one of us wanting to take it slow anymore as the heat in the room builds and builds.
“Do whatever you want to me,” I whisper. Because I keep what I want, and I want him. God, I want him.
I find his lips, savoring the feel of his skin and the taste of his tongue.
“Wider, Krisjen …” he pleads.
I let my thighs fall wide, while he kisses my mouth, my neck, and sucks a breast into his mouth again. He tugs at a nipple, and I arch up, keeping it in his mouth. God, I love it when he does that. I pull my wrists out of his hold, taking his waist in my hands, and pull him in, burying his cock deep inside me.
I moan, and he growls, propping himself above me to stare down at my body as we fuck.
The phone rings. We ignore it.
“Macon …” I moan.
It rings again. He seethes. But I beg, “Don’t stop.”
I stare up into his eyes, my hand around the back of his neck, but it rings again.
He jerks away. “Goddammit!”
And I cry a little when his heat leaves me and the bed.
He grabs his phone, knocking over things on his dresser in the process, and answers. “Fuck!” he growls, holding the phone to his ear. “What?”
“Saints just crossed the tracks!” I hear Trace shout from here.
Macon breathes hard, turning toward me and walking back for the bed.
I bite my bottom lip and then … I swing around hanging my head over the side of the bed and grabbing him with my mouth as he comes in.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans, just realizing what I’m doing.
He stands next to the bed as I suck him down, and he leans over me a little, burying his cock in my mouth. His hand caresses my breast.
“Yeah, so, um ….” Trace stutters, and I realize Macon just blurted that in his ear. “They took a left. My guess is they’re going to the cemetery.”
“What do I care?” Macon rubs his thumb over my right nipple, pumping his dick into my mouth slowly so he doesn’t hurt me.
He groans again. “Oh God.”
“Are you …” Trace starts to ask but stops. “Never mind.” He pauses, then continues. “What do you want us to do?”
“Pull back.”
“But—”
“You heard me,” Macon snaps. “Just leave it.”
“They’re searching for the treasure.”
“It’s not in the cemetery,” Macon says.
My eyes pop open just as he yanks the phone away from his ear and tosses it on the bed.
“Not anymore,” he murmurs to himself.
The treasure? That was one of the rumors I asked him about when we ate in the kitchen that day. It’s true?
I swirl my tongue around his tip, tasting myself on him. Loving that he tastes like this, because he was inside of me.
“I taste good,” I say softly.
He reaches down and lifts me up, onto my knees, and brings me into his body. “Yes, you do,” he whispers over my lips.
He kisses me, sucking me off my own lips and digging his fingers into my ass.
“So the treasure is real?” I ask, remembering what he just said to Trace. “They’ll rip the place apart, you know.”
He holds me tight. “It’ll take more than that to get me to leave this bed tonight.”
We kiss, our arms circling each other tightly, and I can’t tell which limbs are mine and which are his. I love this with him. I love that there’s nothing better than tonight. I love—
A boom hits the air, followed by another one, and we jump, pulling away from each other’s mouths.
Still holding each other, we turn our eyes out the window and toward the bright glow of an explosion somewhere behind Mariette’s. On a road? In the swamp, maybe?
“Oh my God,” he mutters.
The fire burns big, and I stop breathing for a second.
Trace. Dallas, Army …
I look at Macon. “We have to go.”
I pull the hood of Liv’s raincoat over my head as Macon and I dash out into the street. We climb into one of the trucks, water streaming down his face and onto his black T-shirt as he turns the key.
He spins the wheel to the left, and I grab the dash and the door as he swings around the street and charges down the road, toward the bar and the motel. The door to the firehouse is up, the small truck inside gone. Some of the volunteer fire department must’ve already sped out to the fire.