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)
Roy went for blood, so it is logical that I fight back just as dirtily.
Do I wish he were dead? No.
But I’m not opposed to a bit of help if it plays the player at his own game.
“He wants the house.” I don’t snarl until I finalize my statement. “And Tempy.”
Nero hits the nail on the head. “Because he knows they’re the two things that will hurt you the most to lose.” He stares straight into my eyes while revealing his insides aren’t as hard as his outsides. “He’s a drop of salty water in the ocean. But this”—his eyes flick around my bathroom—“is your home, and Tempy is your baby.”
“A baby with a bite bigger than her bark.”
He laughs like he knows I’m not lying. I guess he can. Tempy bit Roy so hard during our last argument that she left a scar. It is on his left thigh, right near the area I had tattooed months ago.
I still as excitement blisters through me.
Is that why Nero called me butterfly? Because of my tattoo? I got it in rebellion, but a part of me, a side I’ve kept well hidden, was hoping that one day it would reflect my transformation from Roy Martin’s wife to Miranda Richardson, entrepreneur and Forbes Woman of the Year.
The last item on my wish list is a stretch, but if you don’t believe in yourself, how can you believe in anyone else? We will back hair-raising ideas from celebrities but turn our nose up at an idea from a family member or friend.
I truly don’t get it. Support should come from those closest to you, not strangers.
Though I’d rather not remember that right now.
Nero is a stranger, yet he’s supporting me through what is meant to be the hardest time in my life that seems more easy than concerning.
Desperate to return his support, I ask, “Have you filed?”
A hum sounds from his chest before he directs me under the spray.
Once my locks are drenched from the roots to the tips, he adds words to his reply. “A couple of weeks back. I originally filed for an annulment. When Tasha refused to sign, I switched it to a divorce.”
His honesty is refreshing, but it doesn’t hide the truth.
“So, technically, Tasha wasn’t cheating.” I speak slowly, unsure if this is the direction I should take.
I don’t want to defend what Tasha did, but I’m willing to give her a little leeway if it keeps my guilt at bay.
I fucked a stranger an hour after being handed divorce papers.
Tasha may have waited weeks.
“Technically… I guess you are right.” He sounds confused, and it has me wanting to push on the brakes, but I lose the chance when he adds, “But I feel like there’s more to her story than she’s sharing, so I have the right to be apprehensive.”
“You do,” I agree. Needing to ease the tension, I playfully barge him. “Just like I have the right to tell you not to be such a hog.”
I’m an inferno in an instant when he replies, “Are you talking about the water? Because if you’re not, and you are more hinting about your sinfully delicious and tight cunt, I have every right to be a hog.”
Cunt is such a crude word, but it sounds sensual in his native twang. It rolls through me like liquid ecstasy and has me wishing my shower stall wasn’t such a confined space.
“We had an agreement, butterfly. Bite for a bite.” He playfully bites my lips, sending my head into a tailspin. “Lick for a lick.” My thighs squeeze when he drags his tongue along the seam of my mouth, tasting me. “So it is only fair that I get to wholly fucking devour you after your cunt”—he says the word like he knows my thoughts on it—“swallowed my dick like it was created for me.”
His last two words are my undoing. I want him. Again. Now. Any way I can get him.
And I need only one word to have him. “Please.”
10
NERO
“Nero!”
Miranda’s amazing tits bounce as I drive into her hard. Her thighs glisten with as much sweat as evidence of her multiple arousals as her ankles lock around my lower back, endeavoring to slow my pounds.
I don’t give in. I fuck her hard and impatiently, needing to ensure not an ounce of the shame she felt last night while pondering the comments our X-rated video may have attracted will trickle through her veins when we go our separate ways this morning.
None of the comments I saw were bad. I would have driven straight to the commenter’s house and ripped their eyes out of their sockets if they were negative. But a woman with a beaten ego needs more than a worded confirmation.
She needs to feel desired and be desired.
She needs to be fucked with a hunger only a man wanting to place his woman on a pedestal can instigate.