Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Put me down,” I yell. “Put me down.”
He turns the shower to freezing cold and I kick to try and get away.
“You…” He slides me down his thick body. “Have been a very bad girl and you need to be punished.”
The water is freezing and I laugh out loud as he pins me up against the wall with his body.
“Who’s going to punish me?” I breathe as I smile up at him.
“I am.”
* * *
“Can I have the bacon and eggs, please?” I ask the waitress.
“I will have the same thanks,” Stace adds.
“Oh, and two coffees, please.” I smile.
“Is that all?” she asks as she scribbles on her notepad.
“Yes, thanks.”
We are sitting in a café having breakfast. I had to come out alone this morning and buy Stace new clothes. His high visibility work wear was like a beacon and not something one would wear if trying to blend in. I got us both a few outfits and toiletries. I also picked up wig for me, and a pair of sunglasses for both of us.
I’m wearing a little pink dress with spaghetti straps that hangs just above my knees while the blonde wig sits below my shoulders. I have a pink cap on. I kind of look like a Spice Girl, to be honest. Stace is harder to disguise. How do you hide a giant made of pure, hard-ass muscle? His tattoos are easily distinguishable so I have him wearing a long-sleeved, cotton, white shirt, and a cap to cover his hair.
He picks up my sunglasses from the table and puts them on then looks around. “These are better than mine,” he mutters.
I frown, pick up his glasses, and put them on. “Why? What’s wrong with these?” Oh, everything does seem a little blue. I glance around at our surroundings. Mine are better than his, he’s right.
“I just like these better,” he tells me.
I hold my hand out to him. “Don’t, you are going to stretch them.”
He looks over the top of the glasses at me. “The only thing I’m going to stretch are your orifices.”
I smirk and stare at him as my brain misfires. Does he have any idea how hot he is with this sexual innuendo he just casually throws into our conversation? Stretching my orifices. How does he even think of this shit? But he is onto something… I have been stretched to the hilt, and then some. I turn to see the waitress standing next to our table with the coffees. She doesn’t know where to look, and it’s obvious she heard what he just said.
I laugh and my eyes flicker to Stace who has dropped his head in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, please excuse my friend. He’s an idiot.” I fake a smile.
Her eyes widen and with shaky hands she places the coffee’s down on the table then scurries out to the kitchen, no doubt to tell her work friends about the hot, dirty talker at table nine.
“I’m an idiot?” he asks with an arched brow.
“If the shoe fits.” I turn the page of the newspaper in front of me, embarrassed that he makes me swoon like a teenager on heat, and that he bloody well knows it.
“Oh, it fits,” he replies darkly.
I lift my eyes to meet his.
“The shoe fit perfectly.” He pauses for effect. “Like a glove.” He widens his eyes.
I smirk. “Perverted,” I mouth as I turn back to my paper and pick up my coffee.
“Just how you like it.”
I smirk as my eyes rise to meet his. He’s on to something there. I do like it… Very much.
“I need a computer,” he tells me, changing the subject. “I need to do some research.”
“Maybe we should just buy one?”
He nods. “Yes, good thinking. That can be our next stop and then we hire a car and go to the deposit box.”
I hold my coffee up and he clinks his with mine.
“We make a good team, you and me.” I smile.
He smiles into his coffee cup as his eyes drop to my lips, and I feel my insides clench. “In more ways than one.”
* * *
Two hours later and we are at the rental car company. Stace is sitting on a row of seats at the back of the office while he connects the Wi-Fi on our new laptop. I’m standing next to him as I wait to be called to the desk. His left hand runs up and down my leg as he sits deep in concentration while he boots up our Internet. His hand slides up my leg, and then back down, back up and under my dress and back down again. I have my arms folded as I stand and wait my turn.
“What kind of car should I get?” I ask.
“Something inconspicuous.”
“Where are we dropping it off?”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe Chile.”
I look around nervously. “When will you know?”