Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
A couple quick strokes with his hand, and my belly is spattered with hot, slick liquid that splashes all the way up to my breasts. His teeth pinch the side of my neck lightly and Reaper groans from the depths of his soul. I slide my fingertips through the mess, spreading his cum on my skin, then look right at him with a grin.
“I definitely don’t feel cold now.”
He laughs quietly. “Good. I should’ve asked before… I’m clean, I swear. I never take chances, but you made me fucking crazy. I didn't know if it was okay to finish in you.”
I lean in to kiss him. “Me neither. I trust you, but for the record, I have an IUD.”
“In that case…” God, he's still at least at half mast, and he positions me so he can shove his cum-slick cock right back up into me. I draw a sharp breath. “Then I'm gonna keep this inside you for as long as I can.”
“Mmmm,” I moan softly. “Okay.”
I doze in his arms, feeling far from cold.
22
REAPER
I wake up to the sensation of falling, barely catching myself before rolling off the platform and into the fucking river. Jesus.
The river's still rushing by, not looking any more inviting. Mila’s asleep next to me, wearing nothing but my t-shirt and using some of our less damp clothes to soften the concrete bed. Her sexy as fuck ass is peeking out of the bottom of the shirt, and I can’t resist the temptation to run a hand over her soft skin. Daylight gone, the doubts creep in. As confident as I sounded last night that the others will find us, I can't rule out that it might take a while. Even if Mack and Scrapper made it back to the club, they might not have seen what happened. If they think we were grabbed, they could be chasing the wrong lead.
Mila's hip is hot under my palm. She doesn’t wake up when I touch her, but she makes restless, unhappy little noises. Bad dream, maybe? She coughs, and it rattles deep in her throat.
Fuck. Feels like a fever, and that’s the last thing we fucking need out here.
She opens her bleary eyes and frowns at me. “I don't feel good,” she moans, and not in the way I like to hear.
“I know. How bad is it?”
“My chest is on fire. I feel like I'm burning up, and I'm cold, and ugh. I can't even decide.” She looks around as much as she can without lifting her head. “Still stuck, huh? I was”—she winces before starting again—”I was hoping that was a dream.”
“Sorry. I’m doing my best to—what do they call it?—manifest a boat, but no luck so far.” I grab her much smaller shirt and dip it in the water. I'd rather have a faucet that’s clean, but she needs cooling down. I fold it up. “Put this on your forehead. Try to cool you down a little.”
“That was my shirt. You just want to keep me naked,” she mumbles, but she obeys.
“Girl, you're not wrong, but that's not what this is about. I'll fuck you silly when you're well again and we have a bed, but for now you just do what I fucking tell you.”
“Ooo, you're being bossy. Maybe I like that.” She’s grumpy and not feeling good, but I appreciate that there's a little spirit left in her. She's not the kind to break easy, but fuck, this is a far from ideal situation.
I look at the water, considering my chances. If I can get to shore, I can find help. The only reason we’re doing as well as we are is because it’s summer, but with no food and only polluted, muddy river water to drink, we aren’t going to get any stronger than we are right now. I told her the club wouldn’t stop until they find us, and I still believe it, but there are a lot of variables that could mean it takes too fucking long. The memory of getting tossed around like driftwood in the river is still fresh and the bank looks impossibly far away, but I think I have a decent shot at making it.
But it'd mean leaving her here, and that thought fucking kills me. It sounds like she got dirty water in her lungs and her body’s fighting with everything it's got. Fevered and alone in the middle of a river sounds like fucking hell to me. And what if she rolls into the fucking water?
What if the cough gets worse and the fever fries her brain while I just fucking sit here? I'm not a fucking doctor and without a phone, I can't even call Doc or Emily.
Damned if I do, damned if I fucking don't.
“You still in there?”
It takes a moment, but she nods, then winces like she regrets it immediately. “My brain hurts,” she moans. “Everything hurts.”