Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Perfection.
Lately, fussy women, the ones who spent hours on their hair and thousands of dollars on makeup, had lost some appeal. He’d still fuck them, of course, but he found himself drawn to women who didn’t take forever to get ready and didn’t try so hard to attract him with their glittery outfits and glossy lips.
Maybe his president’s ol’ lady, Brooke, had wormed her way in his head. She was as natural as they came and gorgeous as could be. Even the newest addition to their family, Liv, took a more casual approach to her style now that she’d shacked up with his brother, Spec. And she used to be as high maintenance as they came.
Officer Baker—he’d yet to learn her first name—signaled the bartender for another beer. Her third in forty-five minutes. Off duty, the woman didn’t mess around. Another point in her favor. Not that his thoughts about her mattered. Tracker was there for one reason and one reason only, to fuck information out of the pretty, rookie cop.
“Showtime,” he muttered as the bartender slid her beer to her.
He rose from his spot and meandered across the small dive bar. The place had its typical sparse Tuesday crowd, but he still got a few wide-eyed stares. Their curiosity didn’t bother him. Having a mohawk, facial piercings, and tattoos meant he’d had to get used to the gawks. He didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought of him. His brothers and their ol’ ladies were the only people whose opinions mattered, and even they didn’t get a say in how he expressed himself with his own body.
“Hey, man, can I get another?” he asked the bartender as he held up his beer. This place carried his favorite local brewery.
“You got it.” The bartender snagged one from the icy chest, popped the top, and handed it over.
Tracker lifted it in thanks as he slid onto a barstool next to Officer Baker.
“Not interested, buddy,” she said without taking her gaze off the bar top.
His lips quirked. Damn! He was already stiff from those first words to him. The woman was sassy as hell. Fucking her certainly wouldn’t be a hardship.
“Sorry?” He couldn’t help but smirk a little.
She sighed. “I’m not gonna show you my tits, and I’m not gonna suck your dick. I don’t care how fat your wallet is, and, yes, I am a bitch, so save yourself a knee to the balls and move along.”
It took more strength than he knew he possessed to keep from barking out a laugh.
“What if a knee to the balls is what trips my trigger? I mean, you’re sitting there threatening physical violence, but how do you know I’m not getting hotter by the second?”
Not far from the truth. He shifted to alleviate the proof of his words.
Officer Baker let out a half-laugh, half-cough as she finally turned to look at him. Her Caribbean blue eyes flared, as everyone’s did at their first glimpse of him, but she schooled her reaction quicker than most. “You know that is a thing, right? A kink? There are all kinds of porn with guys getting their balls crushed.”
“Don’t I know it.” He winked, and this time she laughed for real. The unrestrained joy of it had his poor dick stiff and wedged between a wooden barstool and an even more uncomfortable zipper.
“You do you,” she said, lifting her beer in salute.
He chuckled. “Well, you’ve seen my face, so you know that’s pretty much my motto. Fuck what anyone thinks of how I live my life.”
“Hmm.” She looked at him, really looked, and some of the tension left her spine, but a note of sadness entered her eyes.
He almost asked her what had her sucking back beer on a Tuesday night, but it wasn’t his damn business, and he really didn’t give a shit.
“Mind if I borrow that motto? Not always my strong suit.”
Well, fuck, now he did give a shit. But it was merely curiosity he could and would ignore. “It’s yours,” he said, unable to keep the smirk off his face. “For a price.”
“Ahh,” she said with an awry grin. Her long blonde hair hung halfway down her back in a sleek ponytail that would feel incredible wrapped around his fist. “So is this the part where you ask me to suck your dick?”
“Nah,” he said with a shake of his head. “If I want my dick sucked, which, okay, fine, I never don’t want my dick sucked…”
She snorted.
“But if I’m actively searching for a woman to drop to her knees, I would not come sniffing around you.”
And… got her.
One of her eyebrows rose, and she speared him with a heated look that spoke of death instead of sex. “Something wrong with the way I look?”
“Nope,” he said, then took a sip of his beer. He drank slowly, letting her stare seep under his skin and warm his blood. “I’m not bullshitting you when I say you’re the hottest woman in this place by far, probably the hottest in a ten-mile radius, but I’ve watched you verbally castrate at least four men tonight. If I’m looking for an easy lay, you ain’t it.”