Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
He’s in the front room with a beautiful brunette girl at his side, and currently, he’s staring daggers at another guy.
Look at you, pretty thing.
Tate’s features are only more stunning in person.
High cheekbones, deep eyes, and a nice mouth.
The rest of the world falls away as I zero in on him.
“Show me the fucking screen,” Tate is saying, taking his hand out of the brunette’s back pocket and taking a step closer toward the other guy.
He’s fucking mouthy.
“I wasn’t taking your picture.”
“You’re a bad liar,” Tate replies, holding out his hand. “Show me your photo app.”
“What are you going to do, punch me? Want to get expelled from Crimson before the semester even begins, Landrey?”
A sudden flash of movement takes me by surprise.
Tate’s fist comes down hard on the wall beside him. His knuckles connect with a framed photo, sending it shattering into pieces.
A few people nearby gasp and move away, and Tate dips to pick up a large shard of glass, brandishing it against the guy’s neck.
I’m left with only one option.
This mess isn’t going to happen.
Not in my fucking house.
I spring into action, cutting across the room. Tate’s fingers drip with blood from the shard of glass clutched tightly in his hand, so graceless and barbaric. The boy has no clue how to fight cleanly.
Slow, crimson rivulets of his blood fall down the stranger’s baby-blue shirt.
“Step back,” I bark at Tate.
“Show me the photos,” he’s saying to the stranger.
“I was just taking shots of the party,” the guy says, tossing his phone out onto a nearby armchair. Tate keeps one hand on him as he reaches for the phone, looking down at it.
“You’re a bad liar. Need these for your personal collection, or were you going to sell them?”
“Hands off,” I say as I reach their side.
I yank Landrey’s arm away from the guy in in an instant.
I pull him back, both of us stumbling a few steps as his momentum lands against me, and the side of my body hits a table behind me, making a lamp fall to the floor.
I keep my fist locked around Tate’s wrist.
The back of his body connects with the front of mine, like I’m a human strait jacket wrapping around him from behind.
I get his arm fully immobilized, holding it firmly in a bar against my chest. If I try to grab the shard of glass out of Tate’s hand it’ll destroy his palm, so I let him keep gripping it like a fucking animal.
“Who the fuck are you?” Tate says, craning his head back to look up at me for the first time.
His eyes flick low then up again, sizing me up.
Yes.
Take me in.
I’m nearly a head taller than you, and you can feel the strength of my grip.
If he’s afraid, he doesn’t show it. He has no clue about me, or my family, or the type of people that I come from. He doesn’t know he should be afraid.
I lean over close to the side of his face and speak in a deep, steady tone.
“Roman Petrov,” I growl right against his earlobe, so close my lips brush along his skin. “Nice to fucking meet you. You are in my house, sumasshedshiy durak.”
In Russian or any other language, he is a fucking crazy fool.
“Fuck,” he whispers as he writhes in my grasp. My body fits around his smaller frame like a snug glove, and when he moves he shoves his ass backwards into my upper thighs, connecting with my cock. I keep him fully restrained, and when his ass moves again, my cock twitches from the friction against the area.
I jam my foot forward, locking against his leg.
“Quit that,” I tell him.
I glance down and see a small constellation of freckles along his neck, leading down toward his collarbone. He’s in a black tank top with its arm holes cut low, and I can see the defined ridges of his muscle.
Lord.
I glance to my side, checking to see if anyone else is still watching us.
The others have long since disappeared into the crowd, though, and beside us, people are too busy dancing to look our way.
It’s been too long since I’ve been physical with another human.
Fighting… or fucking.
I want a woman up against me like this, not a feral jock. But his eyes are too pretty when he glances up at me, with natural thick, dark lashes and a deep-set, fuck-me kind of look.
I despise seeing something that beautiful wasted on him.
And he’s still clutching that glass. Bleeding, yet he won’t relax and let me win. He has to be screaming with pain, but he tolerates it like it’s nothing.
So distracting.
Everything I want, just not on the right person.
I feel my cock growing harder, smashed up against my denim and pushed against the spot where his back dips into the cleft of his ass.