Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“This is not the end of this discussion.” He tries to say more, but we’re shoved again. With an exasperated huff, he grabs hold of me, lifts me like I weigh nothing, and tosses me over his shoulder. I let out a startled cry as the room spins, his shoulder digging into my stomach. Then he strides straight through the crowd, carrying me like I’m his to take, like possession is the language he speaks fluently, and I’m struggling to translate it.
“Put. Me. Down! What the hell are you even doing?” I scream.
He bounces me—yes, bounces me—on his shoulder, pressing further into my stomach as he strides to an exit that I’m guessing leads to the changing room. Once the door shuts behind us, he sets me down on my feet, then turns to open a locker and pulls out his belongings.
There’s a shower to his right, and without a second thought, he removes his shorts and then walks over and turns it on. All I can do is stare at his rock-hard ass. I’m completely confused as to what is going on and why he dragged me back here. Who gave him the right to put his hands on me like that? I go to speak, but my words are completely cut off when he turns around with absolutely no shame whatsoever and starts washing his body.
“So, you do know how to shut up,” he says, then proceeds to wash his cock right there in front of me. “Risky for you to come in here dressed like that. You do know this place is full of criminals.” His gaze rakes over me while he finishes cleaning his cock. He tilts his head back, and the water streams over his skin, removing all the soap. I watch in complete fascination as the suds slip all the way down, past his cock to his feet, and then scuttle down the drain.
He has the nicest body I’ve ever seen, all raw strength and sculpted muscle. Every ridge and line looks carved with precision, his abs taut, his chest broad, his arms thick with the kind of power that only comes from years of discipline, not vanity. My ex-husband, Noah, was fit—gym-fit, predictable-fit, the kind that came from routine and protein shakes. But he wasn’t this type of fit. Soren is built for endurance, for impact. Every inch of him radiates controlled aggression and effortless dominance. He’s a walking embodiment of danger wrapped in temptation with a pretty little bow on top.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask, even though I know perfectly well now that it’s the wrong choice for a place like this.
“Nothing, if you’re in a damn office.” He turns off the water, then walks straight up to me.
“Your cock is pointing in my direction,” I say, and he smirks.
“You’re in my domain, Miss Knight. If at any time my cock offends you, you could leave instead of just standing there, staring at it.”
He does have a mighty fine cock—thick, impressive, and easily the largest I have ever seen.
“You manhandled me,” I growl, heat rising in my voice.
“I saved you from getting trampled by the crowd. A thank you will suffice.”
He hasn’t made any move to get dressed, standing there completely unfazed and confident in his own skin, as if the very idea of modesty does not apply to him.
“No, I don’t think so.”
He nods, as if he were expecting that answer. He gets closer, and I brace myself, for him. But he simply leans around me, his body pressing slightly against mine as he opens what I assume is his locker, and produces a towel. He says nothing, and neither do I as I turn away from him and he slides on his pants.
But I stare.
I can’t help it.
Because damn.
Every muscle in his back flexes as he moves, and I swear my common sense packs up and leaves.
Because even though I know I shouldn’t be back here, I can’t seem to make my feet move.
TWO
SOREN
She makes no attempt to leave, though I can see in her eyes that she is itching to run.
Reaching back into my locker, I grab my shirt. Without bothering to put it on, I shut the locker with a solid clang, and turn to face her. She looks so prim and proper, so out of place here. My eyes skim over her tailored pants and tight shirt with just a touch of cleavage peeking out. Her face is flawless, and without a lick of makeup to be seen, so different from the usual women I keep in my company. She has a flicker of defiance and curiosity that glosses over her face. She is not afraid, not really. Just smart enough to know she should be.
“Let’s go.” I nod toward the door.
“I have a few questions to ask you,” she says. I shake my head and start walking, her heels clicking behind me as she follows.