Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Asshole. Screw him.
Silence settles around me, rage curling through my chest, pulsing through my veins like poison. I should have known better than to ignore all those red flags. Hell, I should have known better than to waste my night on the kind of man who brags about how loud he’s going to make a woman scream.
God, I’m such an idiot.
Grabbing my drink, I aggressively throw back what’s left before standing and taking off the same way Hunter left, heading straight back to Black Velvet. I guess Marcus and Dean will get to walk me to my car after all.
4
LYRA
Okay, to put it lightly, I’ve been a bitch. A wildly unsatisfied, overly horny, cranky bitch.
I need to get fucked. Big time.
It’s been a week since Hunter uttered the words, don’t take it personally, and to be completely honest, I’ve done nothing but take it personally. I’ve spent the last seven days pissed off and desperate. I have the kind of craving that no toy could possibly satisfy, and believe me, I have more than tried.
Hunter promised me a good railing, and now my cooch is holding him accountable. Though, it doesn’t necessarily have to be him who delivers the thorough pounding. Hell, I can guarantee that it won’t be. That man is never going to get within ten blocks of me ever again, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m craving some hardcore human touch.
Damn. To put it lightly, I need a good, solid cock. And a silicone dildo—no matter how lifelike it may be—simply isn’t going to cut it.
I need that thing pounding into me, hips rotating, shallow pulses, and fingers rolling over my needy clit. I need to be thrown against a wall and manhandled, and nothing else will do. Which brings me to the reason behind being a raging bitch the past week.
It’s a little after four in the morning and Black Velvet is finally empty. The bass has died, and the main house lights have come back on, lighting the bar up like fireworks on New Year’s Eve. The scent of tequila and citrus is heavy in the air as my bar staff and I start closing everything down.
We’re wiping down tables and stacking chairs like we haven’t spent the last eight hours making espresso martinis with the emotional stability of frightened raccoons. Hell, the only thing getting us through is listening to Dean and Marcus standing outside, chain-smoking and arguing over football.
We power through our close ritual like underpaid strippers at tax time, and before I know it, we’re walking out the door and locking up behind us.
“Night boss,” Danielle calls over her shoulder as Dean falls in beside her, always ready to play the role of her knight in shining armor, though I’m positive she can more than handle herself. But I don’t dare say anything, not if it means getting to watch Dean get all goofy and stupid around her. I swear, every time he looks her way, his eyeballs turn into big red hearts. The only problem is that Danielle seems to be the only person on the planet who can’t see it.
Like the perfect gentleman, Marcus walks me to my car, and I look up and down the street as we move. This time of night, Onyx Heights is quieter, but it’s never really quiet. There’s a chill in the air, and as I breathe it in, I hear a siren in the distance. Drunken idiots are still stumbling through the streets, searching for bars and clubs that might still let them in, while Ubers hang around, searching for their passengers. It’s so on-brand for Onyx Heights.
Despite it only being a short walk to my apartment building, Marcus insists that I drive. So in order to avoid an hour-long lecture about my safety, I oblige every night.
He helps me into my car, and before I know it, I’m hitting the gas and heading home, still annoyingly horny and deeply irritated, all while blaming douchebag assholes who don’t know how to put it down.
God, I need to get laid. I’ve spent all week imagining just how fun it would be to gut the all-talk-no-cock bastard who bailed on me.
My grip tightens on my steering wheel, and I do what I can to focus on the road ahead. I’m not exactly the best driver. In fact, somebody should probably suspend my license and have my car taken away from me. I have a tendency to drive a little faster than the speed limit allows, and when I get inside my head like this, concentrating becomes almost impossible.
I breathe in and out, trying to invoke a little zen, but let’s be honest, it’s a lost cause at this point. All I can do is try to keep all four wheels on the road until I’m pulling up in the very last space outside my building.