Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
He climbed into the car and made an anonymous phone call. Then he moved the Mustang down the street and kept an eye on her. Fifteen minutes later, red and blue lights flashed around the corner. The police wouldn’t always be there for her, but maybe they would help her tonight.
He didn't look in the rear-view mirror as he pulled away. Amber was forward, Livana was forward, and that was where he needed to be.
As he made the twenty-minute drive to her porch, his anxiety rose to a level Amber would've been all too familiar with. What if she'd taken another lover? Another deliveryman? What if Livana had moved elsewhere? Christ, he should've kept an eye on them.
With a churning stomach, he passed the side street he usually parked on. A few seconds later, he pulled into Amber's driveway and turned off the car.
Something moved on the porch. A stray cat? No, a person-sized shadow, sitting right there. He strained his eyes through the dark, waiting for them to adjust. Dark hair, wide eyes...Amber? Face frozen in...Panic? Confusion? Shock?
He fumbled for the door handle, catching it on the second pass. His legs shook as he rounded the front bumper, his eyes glued on the woman rising from the bench.
Sliding the hood off his head, he quickened his gait, his heart slamming into his throat. She's on the porch. Outside. And she's not flipping her shit?
Fuck him, she did it. A smile stretched across his face. Of course, she fucking did.
She leapt off the porch and ran toward him, her legs flexing in tiny black shorts, her gorgeous tits stretching her t-shirt.
He held out his arms to catch her, his pulse racing in anticipation to hold her body, to kiss her lips—
Her hand landed across his face in a stinging slap. “Six months, Van Quiso.” She smacked him again, her eyes blazing. “One hundred and eighty-three fucking days!”
Her tiny fists went crazy, raining down on his torso in pummeling strikes. She got in some bruising punches, but dammit, he couldn't stop grinning. God, he missed her feistiness.
When she lowered her arms and gazed up at him, her beautiful makeup-free face softened beneath the glow of the streetlight. “You came.”
Christ, he wanted to kiss her. “You waited.”
She raised a finger, pointing at the bench. “Right there. One hundred and sixty-four nights.”
His heart squeezed. With pain. With pleasure. “What did you do the other nineteen nights?”
Her lips slid into a foxy grin. “I made little Van voodoo dolls and stabbed them with toothpicks.” Her smile fell. “Are you seeing anyone?”
The worry pulling at her expression made him sick to his stomach. He cupped her face and guided her mouth to his, just close enough to kiss. “There's only been you, Amber.” He brushed their lips. “If we're not counting my hand.”
He captured her mouth, or maybe she took his, but their tongues met with equal hunger, lips mashing through drugging licks. When he tilted his head and demanded deeper entry, she surrendered, melting against him with her fingers in his hair.
His kiss grew punishing, urgent and rough, his hands more so. He found her tits, pinching them hard enough to make her yelp. He sucked on her upper lip, his cock throbbing against his zipper, as he caressed her firm cheeks beneath the shorts. Jesus, he'd missed her ass, and he was going to fuck her right there on the driveway if they didn't move inside.
When he pulled back, she slipped out of his arms. Walking backwards, hips swaying, she gave him a playful smile. “So you haven't had sex in six months?”
He stalked after her. “No, baby. What about you?”
She shook her head—thank Christ—then took off toward the front door, vanishing inside the house. He trailed her, his blood pumping from his heart to his dick, his jeans a painful constriction.
A quick scan through the front room gave him a sense of how much had changed, like the single clock on the wall and the way the pillows were strewn across the couch. There was no clutter, no dirt he could see, but the house didn't have the same severity it once had. Perhaps it was the addition of color. A red throw blanket, an orange rug, and a yellow vase in the corner.
He found her in the kitchen, her eyes glimmering right before she slipped out the back door. What was she up to?
Another thing he'd missed were her endless surprises.
He stepped into the backyard, the woodsy smell of hickory scenting his inhales as he prowled toward her. She waited beneath a tall lattice trellis that adhered to the house.
He reached above her head and yanked on it. “This is new.”
Lifting her lids, she peered up at him. “When I put it together, I fantasized about you tying me to it, taking my ass with your belt. Then with your cock.”