Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
He makes an impatient sound. “Where do you live? What’s your plan for the future?” A pause draws itself out, his whiskey breath warming my ear. “Any boyfriends?”
I wet my suddenly dry lips and resist the urge to smile.
Stop. He’s not interested in getting to know me.
He’s just making conversation.
Speak. “I’m living in Nashville right now, attending Vanderbilt. I’m on an academic scholarship, but I teach yoga to pay the rent. I live with two roommates to keep costs down. But also, because I love them. They’re my best friends.”
Another rumble from that barrel chest that I can feel all the way down in the core of my body, my toes curling in my sneakers. “Yoga, huh?”
Why did he choose to focus on that one part of my story? “Uh-huh. How do you think I contorted myself between you and the window,” I say, turning my head and tilting it back, giving him a saucy look. “Flexibility.”
I was only intending to tease him, but the amusement is wiped clean off my face when he settles the whiskey bottle between my legs, the glass widening the gap between my inner thighs. And when he drags it a couple of inches toward my sex, my most intimate muscles clench in surprised anticipation. “How about we don’t talk about how flexible you are while you’re sitting on my lap?”
The shift in discourse has made my thoughts muddled and I struggle to catch up, my breath shallowing. What is happening here? “You said you weren’t interested. Why does it matter?”
An almost inaudible rumble in his chest. “Must be the whiskey asking.”
“Hmm.”
His mouth presses into the back of my hair and my eyes close automatically, heat uncurling like a ribbon of smoke in my tummy. “Well? You got a boyfriend who benefits from that flexibility, or not?”
“No. But I’m reviewing applications.”
“Bet the stack is a mile high,” he mutters, dragging that Jack Daniels bottle all the way to the juncture of my thighs and twisting it in a circle and oh.
Oh my God. When the glass corner of the bottle rubs sideways over the seam of my jeans, shifting the coarse material on top of my clit, I hitch a whimper. At the same time, the bus lurches while going over a pothole, sending me rocking back in Deke’s lap, my butt pressing right up against his belt buckle.
There is no pretending I don’t feel his colossal erection.
FOUR
Deke
I’m even more of a bastard than I realized.
This girl is twenty. I’m forty-two.
My cock should not be harder than reinforced concrete right now.
It’s not just her hot little body upending my good judgment, either. It’s her attitude.
Goddammit, I love her attitude. Every time she opens her smart mouth or gives me one of those snippy looks over her shoulder, I fall deeper into curiosity about her. And believe me, I had zero plan to end up here. Protecting her. Talking to her. Parking her on my lap, that tight ass pressed up against my package. Throbbing for her.
When I saw the men harassing June and decided to intervene, I had no intention of her ending up on my lap. I truly didn’t. This was a gradual progression into madness, and the more she melts against me, the harder it is to imagine ending the night without her raking her fingernails down my back, that brat mouth screaming for God.
But that isn’t happening. Absolutely not.
I’m a lot of things—a burnout, an asshole, an unrepentant drunk—but I draw the line at being a creep. Not to mention, her uncle is a damn fine man. I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again if I creampie his niece. Unfortunately, now she knows I’d love to bang her into next week. She feels how aroused I am.
Her ass rubs right to left, as if to confirm, and I hiss a sound. Leaving the bottle of Jack wedged between her thighs, I wrap her hair around my right fist and tilt her face up the ceiling, my mouth open against the side of her face. “You couldn’t handle that dick, little girl. It requires a woman with a lot more experience.”
The sound of her swallow reaches my ears. “You don’t know anything about my experience.”
“I don’t want to know,” I lie through my teeth.
“Good.” She yanks her hair out of my hand, spitting venom up at me through her incredible green eyes. “God. What turned you into such an asshole?”
I’m not expecting the question.
No one asks me why I’m such a jerk. Everyone just puts up with me. They have to because I’m paying their bills by employing them.
“You just met me today, June Bug. How do you know I wasn’t always like this?”
She turns slightly in my lap, looking up at me through wide eyes. “Because I know. I know you used to be kinder. You enjoyed being a singer. You valued country life—”