Saint Read Online A. Zavarelli books (Boston Underworld #4)

Categories Genre: Action, Alpha Male, Angst, Bad Boy, Crime, Dark, New Adult, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Boston Underworld Series by A. Zavarelli
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Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
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“I’m going to fuck you like a King,” I tell him.

“Scarlett?”

“Yes?”

“Get the fuck on my cock. Now.”

I get the fuck on his cock.

“Christ,” he groans. “Now fuck me like your life depends on it.”

I lean forward and whisper in his ear. “Keep your hands on the wheel. Satan’s about to take you for a ride.”

I dig my fingers into his shoulders and fuck him into oblivion. It’s wild, and it’s loud and there is nothing else in the world as hot as the two of us together. The combination of the speed and the adrenaline hurls us both over the edge.

He comes hard and then hits the brakes, skidding onto the side of the road.

We are breathless and still clawing at each other. Kissing and groping and thrusting and grinding.

I yank him back and kiss his throat, sucking on the skin until I leave a mark.

“Tell me I can’t be outdone,” I demand.

“Scarlett, what in the bleeding hell is going on with you?”

“Say it. Tell me no other woman will ever please you the way I do.”

He kisses me, and it’s soft this time. “No other woman comes close.”

“I just need to forget.”

I squeeze my eyes shut when they start to burn.

“Make me forget.”

“How, sweetheart?”

He brushes my hair back over my shoulders and kisses me all over. It’s full of reverence and this is how I know he’s really falling for me.

I have a definite falling sensation too.

Into a vortex that I can’t get out of.

“I don’t care,” I tell him, and it’s frantic. “I just need to get high. On you. On everything. I need to feel alive.”

There is concern in his eyes, but he doesn’t voice it.

“Whatever you want, baby doll,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Twenty-Four

Rory

Scarlett isn’t the sort of girl you take to the movies.

You don’t buy her flowers and chocolates to sweeten her mood.

You take her to an armory.

“What is this place?” she asks.

I don’t answer because I like watching her figure things out on her own.

The road up here is private. The land owned by our Russian mate Alexei. It’s in the middle of bleeding nowhere and the lads and I come up here from time to time to blow off steam.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks, and now she’s stiffer than a board in my passenger seat.

Something has changed, and as usual, I can’t keep up.

“You said you wanted to get high.”

“So you bring me into the forest?”

Fuck.

The forest.

Scarlett is tougher than nails, so it’s easy to forget sometimes all the hell she’s been through.

I point out the window and into the distance where the targets are set up.

She’s quiet for a minute, glancing at the targets, then back to me. Questioning me with her eyes. And it’s time we had this out.

“Scarlett, do ye not feel safe with me?” I ask. “Do ye honestly believe I’d ever do anything to hurt you?”

“No,” she says. “I know you wouldn’t do anything.”

Her voice is sincere, and it’s a baby step.

“Aye,” I answer. “Now, how do ye feel about blowing shit up?”

She smiles. “I want to.”

“Yeah ye do, baby.”

We get out of the car and I take her hand. She doesn’t fight me on this.

The bunker is underground, accessible only by fingerprint scan. I open it up and lead the way, Scarlett trailing behind.

A minute later, she’s in awe. Walking around the space and perving on the arsenal. I’ve never seen anything so hot as her checking out weaponry in her strappy black heels. They look like bondage on her feet and I’m hard and checking out her legs when she asks if she can throw a grenade.

“No.”

She pouts.

“What is that thing?” she points to the heavy artillery.

“That would be a bazooka.”

“A bazooka?” she shrieks and then tips her head back in a fit of laughter. “Of course your crew would have fucking bazookas.”

“We like to be prepared.”

“And what about that one?” she points to another.

“Flame thrower.”

“Right. And this?”

“That’s a Katana.”

“And what do you need a Katana for?”

“No real reason,” I admit. “They’re just cool as shite.”

She nods in agreement and traces her finger over the blunt edge of the sword’s blade.

Hard, so fucking hard.

“So what do I get to play with?” she asks.

I adjust myself in my pants and she catches me.

“Are you getting all hot and bothered?” she smiles. “Because I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t too.”

As much as I want to squeeze my cock back into her and fuck her in this room that isn’t what I brought her for. So I make the rounds and grab a few guns. Revolvers and semi-autos of different weights and calibers.

But then Scarlett points to an AK-47 on the wall.

“That one too,” she says. “I want to try it.”

Of course she does.

I grab a couple of those too and then load her down with ammo before I gesture her outside. We lay everything out on the wooden bench in front of the targets and Scarlett is antsy. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, fingers itching to touch.


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