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)
He grins, and as his grasp on my thighs tightens further, he slides me over the wet bar, dragging me closer toward him. “What if I’m only a serial killer on Wednesdays?”
A breathy scoff leaves my lips. “We all know statistically, serial killers do their thing on a Sunday.” He just stares at me, and I quickly realize that perhaps I’m taking this serial killer thing a bit too far. I want him to think I’m edgy, but not crazy. “I, uhhhh . . . watch true crime documentaries.”
He nods as though suddenly understanding me better than I ever could. “What’s your name?”
I take a breath and really consider him. He’s a heartbreaker through and through. But let’s be honest, I don’t want a relationship with this guy. Men like this, they’re only good for one thing, and that one thing is generally exceptional. It would be a terrible waste not to go for it.
Holding out my hand in offering, I smile. “I’m Lyra.”
He takes my hand in his big one and pulls me in even closer until my lips are barely a breath away. His other hand releases my thigh and finds the base of my throat, circling it and making everything tremble within me. “Go out with me, Lyra. I’m not asking again.”
Ooooh, bossy.
Just how I like it.
My gaze collides with his, and despite still being on my knees, soaking wet on my bar with his hand around my throat and a couple of hundred customers surrounding us, I can’t seem to look anywhere else.
I’m completely mesmerized as the words fall from my lips. “You’re going to fuck me up.”
He nods. “Probably.”
Shit.
As if sensing the hesitation swirling through my mind, he continues. “Either way, I take you home and fuck you until you scream. Whether something more comes from that, I don’t know, but from where I’m standing, we both win tonight.”
Damn it. He just had to go and say the magic words. But there’s no denying that he’s right. Tonight, we both get exactly what we want, and I see no problem with that.
Letting out a sigh, I pull back from his hand necklace. “What’s your name?”
“Hunter.”
I scoff. Of course it is. Perfect serial killer name right there.
“Just Hunter?”
“Hunter Cole.”
“Okay, Hunter Cole,” I say, knowing deep in my gut that this is probably the worst idea I’ve ever had, despite the guaranteed screaming orgasm I’ll likely have tonight. “I get off at two, and I’m warning you, don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t,” he says with a confidence that makes me uneasy. “The regret usually comes after.”
I laugh. “I don’t doubt that for one second.”
2
HUNTER
Fuck me. This woman is either going to bring me to my knees, or will slaughter me in my sleep. I’m leaning toward the latter, but either way, I’m down to find out. There’s something about this mystical Lyra that draws me in, and I need to figure out why.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my moments of going through women like cheap whiskey, but none of them have held my attention the way she did, and as I watch her make her way around the bar, I find myself obsessed. I need to know what makes her scream. How she smells. How she tastes. How she feels beneath my hands.
She’s a little spitfire, and watching her dance for me on that bar had me bricking up like a fucking teenager. To be fair, she probably wasn’t dancing for me. She was just doing her job, but when I’m lying in my bed with my cock in my fist, madly jerking off to those pretty eyes and that perfect body, I’ll be telling myself that every move she’s ever made has been solely for me.
The way those hypnotic eyes ate me up.
Fuck, she’s got no idea what she just got herself caught up in.
I am not the man who’s going to sweep her off her feet.
I’m not the white knight who’s coming to save her from her ivory tower.
I’m a fucking monster.
I’m exactly what nightmares are made of, but Lyra can handle it. There’s a ferociousness in her eyes, even while she shook her ass on that bar and danced to Britney Spears. Lyra is like a feral kitten who thinks she’s the queen of the jungle, and I want to see her roar. Though my gut tells me that roar is barely a subtle hiss, she just needs somebody at her back to show her how.
I could be that for her. I could teach her how to roar, and fuck, she’d drop me right to my knees. That is until I inevitably fuck it up, just as she already anticipated I would. She’s not wrong. A man like me doesn’t give happily-ever-afters. We stick around just long enough to watch them get attached, we have our fun, and once they start looking at us as though we could give them something more, we pull the rug out from under them.