Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
A trembling groan escapes me as the seed erupts all over my abs. I gasp, locked in the fantasy, seeing my woman bouncing in time with my thrusts. Her whole body would shiver for me. Her gorgeous thickness would bounce. Leaning down, I take her nipple in my mouth, sucking her toward the end.
Then the fantasy fades away, draining like my manhood. I’m left with come all over my stomach, causing the sheets to stick to me. The room feels far colder and emptier than usual. My life is hollow without her—without the woman I met tonight. It’s not like I’ve even had a real conversation with her. She could be trying to con me. These are all good reasons to go through with it and delete her number as planned, but I can’t.
Checking my phone, I see the status of my message is still sent, not delivered. I shouldn’t give a damn. I need to worry about my family, about the Family. Yet, no matter how hard I try, I can’t get Scarlet out of my head.
Pushing the sheets aside, I stand, walking toward the ensuite. I need to get cleaned up.
CHAPTER 7
Scarlet
I sit on the edge of my bed, looking over at my phone, charging on the floor. The battery died when I was at the restaurant, mid-conversation with Elio. I shouldn’t be speaking with him, anyway, especially if the crazy hunch I have is true, and he was eating dinner with the loan shark—all smiling, sharing champagne, toasting to some criminal success.
It’s the middle of the night. I’ve worked over twelve hours. I should be tired enough to close my eyes and sink into welcome oblivion, but I can’t even think about sleep while knowing that Elio might’ve texted me. There’s also the fact that any second, somebody could kick down the door, charge in here, and hurt me to make me pay.
My phone is old and busted. The charging symbol takes forever to come on. Every time it dies, I wonder if this will be the last time. I use all my restaurant money for rent and household expenses. Buying a new phone isn’t something I planned for. I almost laugh. How can I pay forty thousand if I can’t afford a new phone?
Finally, the screen blinks awake. I spring out of bed way too fast, way too eagerly. I need to control some of this hunger. It’s not wise for a person like me, with basically no experience, to rush headfirst into this, whatever this is. The best-case scenario is that he’s a Good Samaritan who wants to help me, and that’s all. He’s not going to want me in the sudden, captivating way I want him.
His final text is asking to put protection on my house. I sit cross-legged on the floor near the socket. There’s one next to my bed, too, but it’s busted, like half the stuff in this place. I bite my lip, wondering if he’s awake. It’s almost four a.m.
But that would mean giving you my address, I text.
A reflexive smile spreads across my face when he begins to type a message in response almost immediately. A stranger’s text shouldn’t be able to light me up like this—a stranger who also happens to be a mob boss. It shouldn’t make me feel so sure he’s the man for me. It’s a text. I’ve been through too much to be so naïve.
We’ve been over this. I could get your address from the loan shark if we were working together, which we’re not. Just let me help you.
Why do you care about helping me so much? I reply.
As he types his response, I imagine him telling me it’s because he felt it, too. It wasn’t all in my head. A lightning bolt crashed into our lives the moment we laid eyes on each other. It electrified us. It connected us. It created something truly special between us.
Because it’s the right thing to do.
I shake my head. Please, Elio. I probably seem like a kid to you, but I’m not an idiot.
You don’t seem like a kid to me. You’re a nineteen-year-old woman. It sounds like you’ve been through a lot. I don’t think you’re naïve, but it’s the truth. Helping you is the right thing to do; occasionally, even men like me need to do that.
So you’re just a Good Samaritan? Is that it?
Those three dots appear, disappear, and appear again. I torture myself by imagining all the things he could be typing, all the declarations of heat and possession.
Have you spoken to your mom about this? he asks. You said you were going to do that before you decided.
She was passed out when I got home.
Then wake her the hell up. I imagine his huge body trembling as he types this. This is important.