Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I can’t focus on the aches in my back or throbbing in my nose.
And I really can’t think about how all that would be already healing if it weren’t for the fucking Jolly Green Terminator hunting me down in my own goddamn office.
No.
I have to use every ounce of strength I can find to fling the drawer to my right open to retrieve the tool, something that swiftly stops being doable thanks to her hands maliciously curling around my throat. While breathing is already more difficult than it’s ever been in my entire life, it becomes exponentially harder as her monstrous grip pitilessly chips away at the minimal amount of oxygen I’ve been able to gather.
Shifting and destroying the entire top floor of our head office building to stay alive now seems like a viable option, yet if I can’t stay awake enough to even begin a transformation the idea is pointless.
I don’t need ten feet of space and ninety minutes to fucking mediate in order to make it happen.
But I damn sure can’t do it unconscious.
Or at least I don’t think I can.
Not something I really wanna gamble on though.
“Ulessse dgonbornra.”
Being called a useless dragonborn causes an internal roar from my ancient half that’s followed by a rush of unexpected energy. The flailing around for the device finally results in my fingers brushing it, and the instant they do, they flick off the lid in preparation of use. It no longer seems to matter that all of her might is crushing my fucking windpipe. Strength that should’ve revealed itself so much fucking sooner surges through my veins allowing me to swing my pen holding fist into the edge of her jaw causing the creature’s neck to become exposed when her head bounces backwards from the blow. With the area open for the stabbing, I immediately twist my wrist and jam the subduing needle that’s camouflaged as an ordinary fountain pen into the territory. Pressing down on the end to inject the serum catches her by surprise, allowing me to finally regain control of the situation. I knock the other arm away, not only freeing my neck but putting her in the perfect position for trapping. The orc’s humongous frame folds forward from lack of support as well as the paralyzing agent taking effect, and I waste no time wrapping my legs around her twitching torso to prevent her from fleeing to safety before the drug has fully kicked in. Despite her captured nature, she grunts.
Thrashes.
Hisses and curses in her native tongue while the platinum painted air floats out the smashed windows.
It feels like decades have passed between the moment of injection and the one where she’s finally still.
Rather than sloppily assume she’s completely knocked out—like she did me—I use one hand to lightly slap her face to see if she’ll respond. When she doesn’t, I violently yank at the black hair that became unwrapped while she was strangling me. After receiving no reaction to the first two attacks, a final attempt to conjure a physical retort is made by partially shifting one foot to claw at the small of her back—some of the most sensitive skin for orcs.
The fact she remains motionless through it all has me shutting my eyes and letting out a wheeze-filled sigh of relief.
Mate.
Confusion caused not by my ancient dragon-side deciding to speak up—it’s happened on random occasions—but the chosen word has me inwardly shouting.
What in the actual D do you mean this thing trying to fucking kill me is my mate, Platinum?!
No.
No? You just said-
Door.
Snapping my head that direction has my eyes latching onto a face that robs me of the very breath I just managed to grab.
Mother of Dragons, she’s stunning.
Ravishing.
Yes, Platinum. That is something we absolutely agree on.
Mate.
That…not so much.
The short, full-figured, dark chocolate skinned woman plants her hands disapprovingly on her black dress pants covered hips and states, “Hello, Mr. Draak. Your assistant buzzed me in. I’m Cameron Pennington, head of HR.”
Mate.
No.
Mate.
Not the right fucking time.
“And the woman currently on top of you in what appears to be a compromising position is my mother.”
Fucked.
Huh. Here’s some shit that doesn’t usually happen more than once in a century. You and I in total agreement not just once…but twice in the same fucking day.
Cameron
See, this is why I personally fucking hate Mondays.
Most people find themselves pissy on a day like today claiming Monday is attacking them because there are no more coffee pods of their favorite flavor or because they’re appalled Janet had the audacity to take their preferred parking space which meant they had to walk a few extra feet while I enter the office at ten a.m. to discover a woman I haven’t seen in almost twenty-five years giving my six-foot-seven, black-haired hunk of an employer a blowjob surrounded by wreckage from a Deadpool movie.