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)
“I suppose you could be both,” I say, pausing to really look him over. “You’ve got the serial-killer vibes down, but I’m not sure you could pull off crazed psychopath. There’s not enough crazy in your eyes.”
A slight grin pulls at the corner of his lips as he presses his palms against the edge of the bar and leans toward me. “Is that so?”
Fuck me. Barely said three words to the guy, and he’s already got me exactly where he wants me, but you won’t see me complaining. “Oh, for sure.”
“What’s your name, Savage?”
“I’m—” A loud chime of the dance bell sounds through my bar, cutting me off, followed by the overwhelming cheer from my regulars, knowing exactly what that means. Then as a wicked smirk stretches across my lips, I place the half-filled glass of no-ice water down on my bar. “Hold that thought.”
His brows furrow, but before I get a chance to explain the nightly table-dance tradition that’s triggered by somebody accusing my bar of being a toxic establishment, “Toxic” by Britney Spears blares through the speakers.
Without skipping a beat, every single one of my employees freezes, no matter where they are, no matter if they’re on the floor collecting dirty glasses, they stop and step up onto the closest bar, their bodies already moving with the practiced choreography.
The dance is just as toxic as the song suggests, and with each roll of my body and twerk of my hips, my customers cheer and throw tips toward the bar for my employees to divide at the end of the night.
Fire pulses through my veins, and as the music blasts through the speakers, I can’t help but notice how I have Mr. Crazed Serial Killer’s undivided attention. He’s mesmerized by every movement, unable to take his eyes off me, and damn it, I’ve never felt so desired in my life. At that moment, every other customer in my bar fades away, and I dance only for him.
My hands roll down my body, emphasizing my curves, my hips swaying before dropping down low. Heat ravages my body, thick with desire and need, but I keep on dancing, holding his stare as though it physically pains him to look away, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath as a wild grin stretches across my lips.
He drags his hand down his face as I drop to my knees right before him on my bar, my long golden hair whipping around in front of him. “See something you like?” I murmur as I continue dancing.
Hunger pulses in his dark stare, and as the end of the song approaches and my hips roll, I reach for the pitcher of water just inside the bar before tipping it over right down the front of my thin white tank, letting cold water cascade down my body.
My customers whoop and cheer as the other girls grab the water spouts and shoot them out over the crazed customers, soaking everybody in the room, and despite everything, my gaze remains locked on my latest obsession.
Water rushes off my body, and as he takes me in, I know exactly what he’s seeing: my soaked tank sticking to my toned body, my black bra visible through the thin fabric, and my cold, wet nipples hardening beneath it all.
My chest heaves as though I’d just endured a fuck-fest marathon as I reach for the half-filled, no-ice glass of water I was in the middle of filling, and get right back to filling it up, all while still braced on my knees before him. “Is that enough water for you?”
His big hands grasp my thighs, and as he leans in, his dark eyes burning with fire, I suck in a breath. His head dips between my thighs, but he doesn’t take his eyes off mine as his tongue rolls out of his mouth and hits my burning skin. He trails his tongue right up to my inner thigh, lapping up the droplets of water lingering on my body.
Holy fucking shit. And here I thought I had the upper hand.
While I’ve been playing checkers, this motherfucker has been playing chess and has already managed to capture my queen.
Check-fucking-mate.
My mouth goes dry, and when he lifts his head and rolls his wet tongue over his lips, I swear I die right here on my soaking bar. His warm, calloused hands tighten on my thighs. “Fucking parched, Savage,” he grumbles, making something wicked stir deep inside me. “I need to be inside of you. Blow off work and let me fuck you.”
My brow arches, and a wild need pulses through me, threatening to take me. “You’re a crazed psychopath and a serial killer, remember? I don’t know if blowing off work is such a great idea. Blowing you on the other hand . . .”