Playing With The Criminals Read online S.E. Law

Categories Genre: Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 60165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)

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Playing With The Criminals

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

S.E. Law

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Me, with two gorgeous criminals? It seems impossible, especially since the two men literally broke into my room in the middle of the night. The huge thugs were planning on taking my valuables, but instead, I got a look at their crown jewels.
Burke and Bruce Magellan are hardened, tough-as-nails criminals with sculpted bodies, perfect lips, and hard, rough hands that make my mouth water.
When they broke into my room one night, at first I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I lie motionless in bed or cry out for help? I shivered in fear and anticipation. But soon, the brothers had me crying out in an entirely different way.
Yeah, whoops! The two men were supposed to rob my family blind …
… but now, all I want is to see their crown jewels every night.
If you want OTT insta-love with insanely possessive alpha males and a shameless good girl gone bad, then one-click right now. Our heroine explores her dark side with two mouthwatering criminals who give the words BAD BOY a new meaning. Never fear, there are no swords that cross because this story is all about her. Reader beware: Not responsible for Kindles that shortcircuit.
As with all my books, this one is safe, with no cheating, and a HEA guaranteed.
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S.E. Law Books



“Annabel?” my dad mumbles from the head of the dinner table with his mouth full of food. It sends shivers down my spine as if he’s scraped his nails over a chalkboard. I hate it when he calls me that. I tried to tell him once that I want him to call me “Annie” like my friends do, but he’d glared at me so dangerously that it discouraged me from ever asking anything from him again. Then, he told me that anyone who called me by anything other than my birth name would never be welcome at the house.

“Yes, Father?” I force myself to reply, keeping my eyes on my plate. Calling Roger “Father” is easy: it feels appropriately cold and distant. It’s calling him “Dad” or “Daddy” that would be odd. That would be too warm and accepting, like I belong here with him when I don’t.

“You will look at me when I speak to you,” he says arrogantly as he continues eating, and the tone of his voice compels my gaze up to meet his. But Roger’s not looking at me because he never does. It used to hurt and make me feel invisible and unimportant, but that was when I still cared to win his affections, and when I still wanted to make him proud. I gave up on that a long time ago.

“I hear you got an A-minus on your math test this week,” he announces in the same arrogant tone as he carelessly continues eating, not looking at me. My eyes flash instinctively over to my mother – did she tell him? Marisa’s sitting across from me, but our gleaming mahogany dining table is so vast that I can’t really see her expression. But I don’t need to; her body language says enough. Her thin, graceful frame is taut with tension, like it always is when my father’s around. Her long, thick, blonde hair is twisted in an elegant bun; her black dress shows off her tanned shoulders; and her perfectly manicured hands rest too still on either side of her untouched plate. She avoids my gaze, keeping her green eyes on her wine glass as she starts fingering the stem.

With my curly brown hair, brown eyes, and curvy body, I look nothing like Marisa, and it’s something I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for. I gaze enviously at her small, round boobs, so manageable and so pretty. They’re nothing like my enormous breasts, which come with a round, wide ass. These body parts make it hard to be as inconspicuous and elegant because they’re so out there. I take after the women in my father’s family, which my mother has made no secret of finding “unfortunate.”

“Explain yourself,” my father carries on, slicing into his steak. “How did you let an A-minus happen?” I clear my throat.

“I studied, Father, as I always do. I only got one question wrong, but–” I try to explain but am rudely interrupted by Roger.

“But what?” he asks, cleaning his teeth with his tongue as he sets down his fork and knife to glare at me. He’s challenging me, and I’m not up for the fight. I swallow, trying to find the courage not to back down but it’s hard.

“But I … um,” I continue in a small voice, “I’m still at the top of my class.”

“Are you now?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say in an almost whisper.

“Yes, what?” his voice is starting to sound dangerous now.

“Yes, Father,” I reply, trying to hold my cool. I can sense my mother’s discomfort from across the table, but she does nothing to help me.

“And do you think you’ll stay at the top of your class by being lazy?” he barks.

“Lazy?” I repeat timidly, although I’m unable to completely hide my surprise. I work very hard to keep my place at the top of my class. My father and I have never gotten along, but he’s never called me lazy before. Why would he do that now?

“Clearly, you’re losing your touch. It almost seems as if you don’t care about going to college,” he insinuates coldly. What a ridiculous statement. College is what’s going to get me out of this ice palace. “Maybe you’re finally giving me an excuse to keep you at home.” I turn my gaze back to my mother, unable to hide my shock. This time, she can’t help but protest.

“Roger,” Marisa starts, her voice a little croaky from years of smoking Vogues, but in a way that’s somehow classy. “Don’t you think—” but she’s cut off.

“I think you’ll speak when spoken to, Marisa. Hold your tongue.” To my horror, but not my surprise, Mom goes silent, turning her attention back to her wine glass and avoiding eye contact. I feel disgusted. It never ceases to amaze me how my parents speak to each other. Not that I have much affection for my mother, but I wish she’d at least try to stand up to him. For me, if no one else, but she never has.