Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“I think there might be one other flaw.” He points to a wrench hanging not far from me. “Can you hand me that?”
“Sure.” It’s heavier than I expected. “What’s the other flaw? Not that I’m admitting anything, of course.”
“Of course.” The very tip of his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates. “You’re technically our prisoner.”
“Ah, true. Switched out my gilded cage for the walls of a biker compound.”
He points at the part he just put back in. “Hold that in place.”
“Me? But I—”
“Unless your soft little princess fingers aren’t strong enough.” He smirks at my glare.
It’s a little scary putting my hands inside the guts of a motorcycle, but anything boys can do, I can at least try. “Like this?”
“Perfect.” He aligns the screw and runs it in, followed by three more. “You could fix both flaws with one cunning move, you know.”
“Oh?”
“Sure, if you seduced your jailor, you could—wait!” His hand clamps around my wrist, but not before my fingers are buried in my hair, pushing it back. “Shit.”
“What?”
He pulls my hand down and holds it in his, showing me. Both of our hands are covered in black sticky grease.
“Please tell me it’s not in my hair.”
“It’s not in your hair,” Shrapnel lies. He pokes me on the end of my nose, most likely leaving a mark there too. “Don’t worry, I like my girls a little dirty.”
14
SHRAPNEL
Rory looks around my place, and I just enjoy watching her turn. We got the worst off our hands in the shop, but there’s a streak of black in her pale hair, and an adorable black smudge on the side of her nose.
“You play guitar.” The first thing she notices are the three I've got on my wall. My babies.
“Always wanted to be a rock star. Didn’t have money for a decent one when I was growing up, but I learned on a shitty twelve string I found at a garage sale.” Fuck, that seems forever ago. “When I joined the Army, that was the first thing I bought with my own money. Do you play?”
“Guitar?” She shakes her head. “No, I had to take piano lessons for a few years because my father read that it was good for math skills, but I hated it and was never any good. He gave up eventually when there was no return on investment.”
I open the door to the bathroom. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen I guess? It was right after he got custody, so I was still new and exciting. I was like a little science experiment for him.”
What the fuck? “You didn’t grow up with your dad?”
She comes in with me and gets a good look at the gunk in her hair, trying to peel the strands apart. “No, the only things he contributed to my life until I was a teenager were his genes and child support. My mom was an exchange student he hooked up with in grad school. They were never really together and he was totally focused on work, so once there was a paternity test to make the lawyers happy, they just went their separate ways.” Rory leans over and splashes water onto her hair to clean the dirt but it’s going to take a lot more than that.
“You can take a shower if you want. I’ll go after you.”
“I showered this morning. Can I borrow your shampoo, though?”
“Sure.” I hand her my all-in-one stuff.
She wrinkles her nose at it but still takes a glob and starts working it into the mess.
My bathroom is pretty small, so I unhook the shower head from the wall and turn on the water, waiting for it to warm up. “Here, this is probably easier to rinse with.”
She reaches out blindly. I swear it’s in her hand before I let go, but apparently not well enough because it flips and sprays her straight in the face. Rory screams and splutters, water going everywhere. “You did that on purpose!”
“No, I—”
She aims it my way, absolutely soaking my entire front. I wipe the water out of my face with a feral snarl. Her eyes go wide and she seems to remember that she’s still holding the shower head. “Um…” She holds it out to me, the water still spraying between us.
Her gray t-shirt clings to her like a second skin, giving me a full outline of her tits with nipples standing at attention. The air crackles with tension between us, time slowing as we each wait for the other’s move.
Fuck waiting.
I close the distance and pull her tight enough that our clothes squish. Her fingers open, handing over the showerhead without a fight. She looks up at me with her lips parted as I hang it back on the wall.
“Is my master plan working?” she asks timidly.
I answer by capturing the back of her head in my hand and pressing her lips against mine. She tenses for a moment, her hands spread out against my chest, before she melts against me. Fuck, she feels good, her curves fitting perfectly, and when she groans into my mouth, it only gets better. Our mouths still locked in battle, I grab the hem of her shirt and start pulling it up her torso with my free hand. It’s soaking wet and sticks so bad I want to just fucking tear it off. We can buy her more clothes later.