SHELBY (Second Chance Novels Book 4) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Kemmie Michaels
belly, coiling me into rapturous pleasure. "Yes! Yes! Uh…" I call out loudly as I come, swirling in the physical bliss I yearned for. My climax is intense, exactly as I needed it to be.
My eyes are still closed as I calm my breathing and focus on every warm nerve and loose joint in my body. I love this feeling. I'm living for this feeling, regardless of who's hovering over me.
"That's right baby," he drawls arrogantly. "You're my bitch."
His voice breaks my spell and reminds me of the ugly side of my need. At any other point in my life I would never be with a man who would call me his bitch. Ownership is not my style. His physical pleasure warms me…my gut chills in return, because I still don't know his goddamn name.
CHAPTER THREE
Two days and about six showers later, I'm spending my day at work, pretending I didn't dive off a cliff into swirling, self-destructive waters below. I imagine myself as the same old Shelby, but I'm not. I crossed a line the other night, and I'm not sure I can go back. I've cried more tears than I can count.
The normalcy of work helps to some extent, but doesn't help my need for human interaction. Chuck remains clueless. He scowls at me like he often does, and I sigh as I log on to our system and start prioritizing the damn help tickets again. Sadly, all I can think about is no-name from the shady bar. Hell, I don't even remember the name of the bar. I shake my head at myself as I transfer pertinent information to my tablet and head off into the bullpen. I see all the white-collar zombies moving through their day, and suddenly my mistake the other night seems like a rush of living life to the fullest. Anything is better than the sadness in my heart. A random fuck at least offers some sensation.
I'm sick with myself over my current train of thought, but like an alcoholic ignoring the hangover waiting for her the morning after, I decided to go out tonight. I hope I don't run into Mr. You're-My-Bitch, but I'm ready to live. I'm ready to be wanted again.
Within hours I'm in my skinny jeans and fuck-me heels, walking into the bar. I check the sign on the way in. "Joe's" is the name of the place. How creative. Then again, if Joe looks anything like Ledger, he should have a bar named after him. Maybe I should flirt with him tonight. I walk straight to the bar and smile my sexiest to the moderately-attractive bartender.
"What can I get you?" he asks, his attitude matching the darkness of the bar.
"Vodka shot. Are you Joe?"
He grabs the bottle and a glass and nods to the corner of the bar where an old guy in a greasy shirt sits. He's occupied with scratching the chest hair tufting from his collar. I will most certainly not be flirting with Joe tonight, and the bartender is too surly to consider. My mistake from the other night is nowhere to be seen, thank goodness, so I sit at the bar and try very hard not to think about why I'm here. I fail miserably, and the pain begins to slowly suffocate me again.
This is a rush, I lie to myself again.
I notice a guy sidle up next to me, and I look over with my smile plastered in place, ready again to consider my options. My heart may be frayed, but my body is ready to feel the heat and connection. I crave that sensation and the fantasy swirling through, simply needing a fix.
When my eyes meet my new drinking companion, my face falls in disappointment.
"Hi Dade," I sigh, shaking my head. He's going to try to cock-block me again, all while not picking me up.
"Hi Shelby."
He remains too clean-cut for this bar. His casual button-down isn't covered with any leather, and his perfectly trimmed hair and nails are the only two things in the bar that shine. His chiseled features and dark hair would fit in, but only if his skin were covered with tattoos and his expression tainted with attitude. His brown eyes are entirely too concerned for this establishment.
"You said you don't come here often," I accuse with my eyes narrowed.
"I do
My eyes are still closed as I calm my breathing and focus on every warm nerve and loose joint in my body. I love this feeling. I'm living for this feeling, regardless of who's hovering over me.
"That's right baby," he drawls arrogantly. "You're my bitch."
His voice breaks my spell and reminds me of the ugly side of my need. At any other point in my life I would never be with a man who would call me his bitch. Ownership is not my style. His physical pleasure warms me…my gut chills in return, because I still don't know his goddamn name.
CHAPTER THREE
Two days and about six showers later, I'm spending my day at work, pretending I didn't dive off a cliff into swirling, self-destructive waters below. I imagine myself as the same old Shelby, but I'm not. I crossed a line the other night, and I'm not sure I can go back. I've cried more tears than I can count.
The normalcy of work helps to some extent, but doesn't help my need for human interaction. Chuck remains clueless. He scowls at me like he often does, and I sigh as I log on to our system and start prioritizing the damn help tickets again. Sadly, all I can think about is no-name from the shady bar. Hell, I don't even remember the name of the bar. I shake my head at myself as I transfer pertinent information to my tablet and head off into the bullpen. I see all the white-collar zombies moving through their day, and suddenly my mistake the other night seems like a rush of living life to the fullest. Anything is better than the sadness in my heart. A random fuck at least offers some sensation.
I'm sick with myself over my current train of thought, but like an alcoholic ignoring the hangover waiting for her the morning after, I decided to go out tonight. I hope I don't run into Mr. You're-My-Bitch, but I'm ready to live. I'm ready to be wanted again.
Within hours I'm in my skinny jeans and fuck-me heels, walking into the bar. I check the sign on the way in. "Joe's" is the name of the place. How creative. Then again, if Joe looks anything like Ledger, he should have a bar named after him. Maybe I should flirt with him tonight. I walk straight to the bar and smile my sexiest to the moderately-attractive bartender.
"What can I get you?" he asks, his attitude matching the darkness of the bar.
"Vodka shot. Are you Joe?"
He grabs the bottle and a glass and nods to the corner of the bar where an old guy in a greasy shirt sits. He's occupied with scratching the chest hair tufting from his collar. I will most certainly not be flirting with Joe tonight, and the bartender is too surly to consider. My mistake from the other night is nowhere to be seen, thank goodness, so I sit at the bar and try very hard not to think about why I'm here. I fail miserably, and the pain begins to slowly suffocate me again.
This is a rush, I lie to myself again.
I notice a guy sidle up next to me, and I look over with my smile plastered in place, ready again to consider my options. My heart may be frayed, but my body is ready to feel the heat and connection. I crave that sensation and the fantasy swirling through, simply needing a fix.
When my eyes meet my new drinking companion, my face falls in disappointment.
"Hi Dade," I sigh, shaking my head. He's going to try to cock-block me again, all while not picking me up.
"Hi Shelby."
He remains too clean-cut for this bar. His casual button-down isn't covered with any leather, and his perfectly trimmed hair and nails are the only two things in the bar that shine. His chiseled features and dark hair would fit in, but only if his skin were covered with tattoos and his expression tainted with attitude. His brown eyes are entirely too concerned for this establishment.
"You said you don't come here often," I accuse with my eyes narrowed.
"I do
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