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)
She nods and holds up her hand, making fireworks with her fingers. “Poof.”
“Dare I ask how they just magically vanished into thin air? Are you here with someone?”
She nods before grabbing her friend and almost knocking her off her feet. She hooks her arm over her shoulder before declaring. “I’m here with Izzy. The Iz-meister. The one and only Izabelle Grace Davenport. Sounds fancy, right? Just rolls off the tongue. Izabelle Grace Davenport. She’s a fashion designer, you know. She’ll be killing it at New York Fashion Week before we know it.”
I nod, and a part of me is pleased that she’s not here with another man, but that doesn’t shed any light on the whereabouts of her underwear. “Hi Izabelle. Good to see you again.”
Izabelle grins at me. “Well, hi to you too, Mr. Get On Your Knees. You may call me Izzy.”
I arch a brow and glance at Harper, surprised to find that she shared that snippet of information with her friend, and she has the audacity to laugh about it. “What? Was I not supposed to go blabbing about the guy who took me in during my hour of need and then had his wicked way with me on his bedroom floor in the form of trying to bruise the little dangly thing in the back of my throat with his enormous cock? Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea, your majesty.”
She hiccups again, and it quickly turns into an awkward burp that makes me uneasy. “Whoops.”
“Harper,” I say, holding her attention. “Just how much have you drunk?”
Both of the girls hold up their hands, trying to count as they rattle off the details of their many trips to the bar. “Ummmm . . . I think seven . . . teen,” she grins before the grin slips away. “My tummy feels ooshy.”
“Ooshy?”
She nods. “Ooshy gooshy.”
Ahh fuck.
“Come on. I’m taking you home.”
Her eyes widen with excitement. “Are you going to hit me with that bossy dom shit again? Because I won’t lie, I enjoyed that. Though between you and me, I think I’m bossier.”
“Harper,” I warn.
“You know, I’m quite the cowgirl,” she says, deep in thought. “I’ve recently been in practice of my reverse cowgirl techniques, and I’m proud to announce that I’m a top tier screw with a deliciously delectable derriere.”
“Indeed,” I agree, putting my hand on each of the girls’ backs and leading them out of the bar. “You have a very delectable derriere. Nobody is arguing there,” I tell her. “But no. I’m taking you straight home, putting you to bed, and that’s it. Don’t even try it.”
Both of the girls laugh, and just as I get them out to my truck and manage to get Izzy into the backseat, Harper leans against my door, propping out her hip and smirking at me as though she knows something I should know. “The joke’s up, Knight. You followed me here, didn’t you?” she questions, narrowing her gaze as though she’s trying to catch me out. “I’m not mad about it.”
Something twists in my gut, and an uneasiness floods through my veins. “The fuck are you talking about?”
“In the club. That was you, right?”
I shake my head. “Do I look like the type of man who spends his Saturday night in a club?”
Her brows furrow, and she almost looks sad. “So, it wasn’t you?” she questions, her shoulders slumping. “I could have sworn. He’s tall just like you. Bossy too.”
My stare narrows, and I step into her, gripping her chin and forcing her stare on mine, not liking where this is going. “What the fuck are you talking about, Harper? Who’s bossy? Is this your stalker you’re talking about? Was he there tonight? He talked to you?”
She presses her lips into a hard line and nods, guilt flashing in her eyes. “You’re mad.”
I clench my jaw and try to put my frustration aside, knowing now isn’t the time to get into it, especially when she’s barely able to string a proper sentence together. “Why would I be mad at you, Morticia?”
She grins and glances away. “Because I let him do naughty things to me again.”
My face falls as my heart hammers right out of my fucking chest. “You did what?” I ask. “Wait. Again? The fuck is that supposed to mean? You’ve seen him twice and let him touch you?”
She giggles, but the giggles quickly turn into hiccups. “He likes to play dirty little games and say naughty things in my ear. I thought—”
“Fuck me,” I breathe, stepping back and pushing my hands through my hair. I pace in front of her, not understanding how she could let this happen, but more than that, how could she not tell me? This happened twice and she hasn’t said a single thing. How the fuck am I supposed to protect her from this asshole if she’s letting him have his way with her? Fucking hell.