Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“Oooh, shit. You’ve got jokes,” he murmurs, the deep, playful tone making something lurch in my chest, making me wish that we could have just taken the dive and made it work. It would have been so easy between us, but the feelings simply aren’t there. “Retract the claws, tiger.”
I lower my tone to a seductive whisper. “Only if you get on your knees and beg.”
Laith groans, and the sound does something wicked to me. “Do you like that? When I spread those pretty thighs and fuck your sweet cunt with my tongue? Is that what you want, tiger? You want me to taste you on my knees?”
Well shit.
How am I going to get through the next four hours of work now?
“No, Laith. I don’t want you to just taste me,” I purr. “I want you to fucking worship me.”
“Ahh fuck,” Laith mutters. “Now I’m hard. You just had to go and take it to a whole other level with that fucking hypnotic tone of yours. Don’t you know what you do to me? How the fuck am I supposed to wait until the end of your shift to get you on your back and watch you squirm? I’m going to be in a permanent state of hardness. Do you have any idea how fucking uncomfortable this is going to be?”
A shit-eating grin tears across my face as my chest fills with pride. “You could always take care of it in the shower.”
“Fuck no. I’m not about to spoil my appetite, Harper-Rayn. Best believe I’m coming for you tonight. You better be ready for me. I’m hungry for your sweet little pussy, and you know just as well as I do that nothing else could possibly come close to satisfying me.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, and my gaze flicks back to the clock, realizing that barely three minutes have passed. It’s going to be one hell of a long shift. “I’ll be ready,” I promise. “I should be home by 2:30 at the latest.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
A stupid smile settles on my lips as the line goes dead, and as I lower the phone from my ear, I lean back in my chair, needing a moment for the heat to leave my body. Laith has a way of getting me worked up, and he generally doesn’t care who or what needs to bear witness to me in those moments. He doesn’t care if my legs are on either side of my gynecologist’s ears with her speculum spreading me apart, or if I’m in the middle of Great Aunt Pearl’s ninetieth birthday luncheon. If he needs to get that elephant trunk wet, he’ll be sure to let me know in the loudest way possible.
After taking a minute to cool down, I get started on the report from tonight’s autopsy while doing what I can to slowly work my way through my large bottle of iced water. I always do what I can to keep on top of my health. I eat a balanced diet and work out as much as I can, but managing to keep myself hydrated has always been a struggle. Why is it so hard to remember to lift a bottle of water to my mouth every now and then?
First world problems, right?
I get immersed in my work when a strange tingle sails across my body, making me uneasy. This isn’t like the kind of feels that Laith had given me earlier—the hypnotic flutter in the pit of my stomach or the heavy, insistent pulse deep in my core.
No, this is different. So very different.
This is eerie.
My skin crawls, and I try to shake it off, but the feeling grows stronger. I swivel in my desk chair, my gaze sweeping around the room, and as my heart begins to race, I get to my feet. The door is locked, and apart from the overwhelming amount of corpses in the refrigeration unit, there’s not a body in sight.
I’m alone. I think.
Swallowing over the growing lump in my throat, I wander around the morgue. It’s big and has many places to hide. Only to get in here, somebody would need an access card and would have to walk straight through the main door, which is directly to the left of my desk.
There’s no way I would have missed someone coming in. I’m well and truly alone. I have to be, and yet, goosebumps are still rising across my skin. I’ve been here since six, and the door hasn’t opened once. But that doesn’t mean that somebody couldn’t have snuck in during the day. It would have been busy then. People coming and going as they please. I’ve suffered through more than enough day shifts to know that the door opens so frequently that there becomes a point when you stop glancing up. You stop caring who’s striding through the room because you’re there to do a job, and for the most part, so is everybody else.