Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“If you think we’re going to leave you alone overnight, you’re not nearly as smart as your daddy made you out to be,” Alpha grunts, then gestures at one of the doors. “That one.”
The door clicks shut behind us, and I flick on the light. “There’s only one bed.”
“Take it,” he says. “I’ll use the chair or the floor or something.”
“Right.” The chair looks like someone stole it from a waiting room in the seventies. I couldn’t fit on it without curling up, never mind someone Alpha’s size. “Want me to look at your shoulder?”
He drops a bag he brought from his bike onto the couch. “I’m gonna take a shower and check the damage. It’s moving fine so probably just a scratch. There’s a first aid kit in the bag. Dig it out and you can help me afterwards.”
It takes about five seconds to find because that’s pretty much all that’s in there. I sit down on the bed with the little case in my trembling hands. There was a shootout. Wild motorcycle chase. And now Books & Crannies is gone. All my stuff. There’s no way there’s going to be anything left even if the fire department got there right after we took off.
I don’t know what to do with myself. Where do I even start?
I hear the shower, and it’s obvious when the water hits his shoulder. “Mother-fucker,” he spits out. The door’s so thin, I even hear his sharp indrawn breaths afterwards.
The first-aid kit is small, but well packed, with bandages, antiseptic wipes, tweezers, scissors and even a needle and thread. There are a couple of baggies with pills that look prescription only. Someone scrawled “antibiotics” on one, and “pain” on the other. Handy, but it says something about their lifestyle.
The water stops, and a few moments later Alpha appears with just a towel around his waist.
Holy crap.
Where do I look when every spot is a little better than the last? His chest is a vast expanse of smooth skin, inked in places, but not as densely as Blade and Ripper. A howling wolf decorates his left pec. A hint of a trail of downy hair leads the way from his tight belly button, down into the towel. His nipples are tightly puckered in the cool air, and a deep, powerful V of muscle pushes at the front of the towel. With every step, his powerful thighs threaten to push the split in his wrap open to reveal an area of his body I shouldn’t be thinking about as intently as I am.
That dream I had the other morning? My brain is playing it back in full color.
Oooooh my.
He raises an eyebrow, dark with threads of red just like in his beard.
I pat the bed. “Sit here, and I’ll look at it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smirks crookedly, and I don’t hate it. It softens his expression so much that you could almost forget for a moment that he’s huge and deadly. Almost.
The bed sinks as he sits and I’m not ready for it. I topple over, rolling right into his lap. “Sorry!” In the process of sitting back up, I grab his thigh and brace a hand on his chest. His skin is hot and damp from the shower. “Sorry! Oh my God.”
He bursts out laughing. “I’m not complaining, honey.”
I snatch my hands away. My heart has no right to be racing this fast. Then I get another look at his Greek god body. Oh yeah, that’s why. I really wish I didn’t have the fantasy of him sliding a big, thick cock into me looping in my head.
It’s probably teeny tiny in real life. At least that’s what I try to tell myself to cool off.
“You gonna do anything?”
I tear my gaze from his defined shoulder blades and the muscled trunk below to find him looking right at me, and it’s obvious he knows exactly what I’m looking at. The corners of his eyes are crinkled in amusement and the smirk’s still there, knowing.
The wound’s not as bad as I thought. From the look of it, the jacket took the worst, and aside from a red line that’s seeping a little blood, it’s pretty clean. I kind of feel silly nursing a big, bad biker for a scratch, but I’ve come this far.
“This is going to sting,” I warn, tearing open one of the antiseptic wipes.
“Go for it.”
Aside from a quick, indrawn breath, he doesn’t flinch when I scrub the wipe across the graze left by the bullet. It could’ve been so much worse. My chest starts to ache, and my face flushes. All the emotions I’ve kept at bay for the past couple hours start to bubble up.
“You okay?” He asks, catching my hand and looking up with concern.
“Yeah… I’m fine.” I toss the wipe in the trash and proceed to mummify half his arm with gauze wrap and medical tape to hold it in place. It’s not pretty, but it’s covered and not going anywhere. “How’s that?”