Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
I’m not the smartest man to ever be born, but it still kills me to admit it takes me three to four minutes to unearth why she’s depriving herself of the items she slaved over for hours.
I almost backtracked on my pledge that I was satisfied with the outcome of my revenge plot when Roy couldn’t hide his confusion for a second longer when I went to retrieve my gun.
He was of the same belief as everyone else in my realm—that a woman over a size two shouldn’t be gawked at with admiration.
He thought a handful of negative and highly untrue comments about bigger ladies would have me running into the arms of the closest supermodel.
His lips didn’t move an inch when I said I couldn’t wait to take his wife for a second run.
I was stirring him. My life is way too complicated to throw someone as innocent as Miranda into the mess, but Roy didn’t know that.
He arced up—stupidly.
I forced him to sit the fuck back down with both my fists and my words before I told him with utmost certainty that I wasn’t playing when I warned him to stay away from Miranda. The instant she sat on my face, she was placed under my shelter. Anything done to her is done directly to me.
I’ll kill a man for looking at me in the wrong manner, but it will be a lengthy death full of torture and deprivation if he dares to utter a bad word about Miranda under his breath.
Miranda’s relaxed, calm composure shows how good Roy’s absence the past three days has been for her, but it’s done little to re-establish the confidence he eradicated from her on the daily before he filed for divorce.
And I’m done pretending it has.
“What do you say, printsessa? Lick for a lick and bite for a bite?”
7
MIRANDA
Nero removes his jacket before pushing back on the stool, placing a generous gap between the kitchen counter covered with slices, cakes, and cookies and him. There’s an empty stool next to him, but his eyes gleam with so much need that even if I want to pretend the gap isn’t for me, I can’t.
Nero wears horny as obviously as I wear desperate.
I can smell it pluming from him.
That doesn’t mean I’ll act like a trollop, though.
I have class—barely.
“I—”
“I wasn’t asking, printsessa. Get your fine ass over here. Now. I’m fucking starved.”
I jump as if accustomed to taking orders, and Nero smirks as if he finds my submissiveness addictive.
My thighs quiver, either in excitement or worry, when he lowers his eyes to my slinky pants. “If you want to keep your shirt, I’m fine with that, but you need to lose your pants.” When I hesitate, he raises his eyes to my face, his gaze lingering on my breasts for two lazy, lust-filled seconds. “No one eats candy with the wrapper still on.”
I angle my head and arch a brow, confused.
He said we were going to go bite for a bite, lick for a lick.
Why do I need to be naked for that?
I’m afraid the whisky-yuzu savarin will be dry when my smarts kick back on.
Nero doesn’t want to go turn for turn on the treats I baked.
He wants to eat me.
The knowledge alone starts an inferno. For now, it is contained in my lower stomach. I don’t see its containment lasting long.
Just standing across from him, panting and wet, I feel my temperature rising. My skin is scorching, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
I’m seconds from combusting.
Tremors race down my limbs when I hook my thumbs into the waistband of the pants I dug out of the back of my closet with purpose. Roy said the manufacturer was wrong for making them for people “my size” and that the only time I was permitted to wear them was when working out in the garage with the roller door closed.
I went grocery shopping in them this morning and didn’t consider testing their elasticity before rummaging through the bottom of an industrial freezer, seeking my favorite flavor of ice cream.
My fupa could have been showing, and I couldn’t have cared less.
I didn’t endure a single scold, not now or this morning, and the remembrance is addictive.
“One minute.” I hold my finger in the air to amplify my request before pivoting on my heel, the elastic in my pants snapping against my skin from the brisk removal of my hand.
Most women about to be devoured as if they’re dessert would run to the bathroom to freshen up.
I bolt for the refrigerator.
I haven’t had ice cream in years, and since the idea of being bitten down there scares me, I pick a meal that will require as many licks as it does nibbles to devour.
My nipples pebble against the thinness of my shirt when I return to Nero’s half of the kitchen. His watch isn’t icy. It’s so searingly hot that any part not awarded the attention of his hooded gaze feels cold.