Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
“Mira—” But before I can even begin, I hear the sound of the bar door bursting open and barely have time to get my pants up before Sandy comes around the corner like a typhoon.
“There you are!” she whines, sounding like a dying cat. “You were gone so long I thought he might have kidnapped you.”
Talk about a splash of cold water to the face.
“Sure, protect her from me but not from Stan.” I roll my eyes.
“From who?” she retorts.
“Forget it,” I reply. I turn back to Mira, the shining light in my life. “Next time I’ll make sure to give you a ride.”
4
FINN
This beer tastes like piss.
I’m on my third, but it’s not helping. I came back into Jayne’s thinking alcohol would dull the ache Mira left in my chest. Make me forget how the skin of her soft, perky tits felt in my hands. Make me forget the way she moaned on my cock or how she looked up at me with such innocence and submission.
But all it’s done is make me more miserable.
I didn’t fuck her. I should have. I shouldn’t have wasted time having her go down on me. That was a mistake. And now she’s gone—run off with that mouthy friend of hers, Sandy. And I’m sitting here on my own, going completely insane just thinking about her.
Mira. My princess. With her gorgeous honey-sweet eyes and her rosy red cheeks. The way she enthusiastically went down on me like she was just dying to brag that she was able to deepthroat my entirety.
I should have pulled out, bent her over my bike, and taken her. Spread her little virgin cunt open and pounded her while she screamed my name into the night. But Mira’s not like any other women I’ve met. She’s different. She’s mine, and I need to treat her like the treasure she is. Every cell in my body knows this. Maybe that’s why I’ve been holding back.
I set my empty bottle down on the bartop, the glass clinking against the wood.
“Another?” Cherry, the girl tending bar tonight, asks, already reaching. I shrug and nod. Fuck it. Might as well drown myself in the stuff.
She sets the bottle down in front of me, and I stare down into the foam, lost in thoughts of her. Her cute little smile, the way she stood up for me to her friend who no doubt saw me as just another tatted-up biker with no use other than fixing up rich girls’ cars when they need it.
But Mira looks at me like I’m something more. And that surprises me. I thought I was just a fling to her. A one-night stand before the wedding. But could I have been wrong? When I picture her eyes in my mind, I see more there. I see gentleness, caring.
And now she’s gone.
And soon she’ll belong to someone else forever.
I drove by her house after she left, using the address my cop buddy got me. But her car wasn’t there. I sat outside waiting for her to come home, but when security spotted me, I had to bail before they got a look at my face.
Chances are she’s just with Sandy, but I can’t shake the feeling that she’s with her fiancé, whoever the hell he is. And whenever I think about that, it’s like an onslaught of painful visions slamming into me one after the other.
Engaged…
My jaw tightens. I gulp down half my beer in an attempt to drown out the wretched reality. She said no when I suggested he was a doctor or a lawyer, but that doesn’t mean he’s not some other kind of suit. Some preppy prick her parents would approve of. Because that’s what matters in the end: whether or not the Coolidges approve.
I take another sip of my beer, but I don’t even taste it anymore. I barely even register the door to the bar opening either, but when a boisterous, arrogant voice calls out, “Top shelf scotch, my good woman!” my teeth clench down on each other like I’m trying to bite cavities into them.
“And when I say top shelf, I mean top shelf!” The voice is grating, oozing with money and entitlement. Annoyed, I half turn around and see four guys, completely out of place, with striped dress shirts and loosened ties, pricey watches on their wrists and shit-eating grins plastered across their faces. They also look like they spent more time on their hair this morning than Cherry did.
The guy running his loud mouth is tall and clearly in shape, with swept-back sandy hair and a spray tan. “My boss is such a nut-buster,” he roars. “If I hadn’t pulled in six-mill this month, he’d still be riding my ass.”
“Yeah, cause you’re the new blood,” another guy chuckles. “And quit whining. You’re his pet because you’re banging his daughter.”