CRUEL TYRANT BY B. B. HAMEL – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: B. B. Hamel
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Stefania
The enormous man looming over me at the bar has a dark stain
spreading across his crotch and he’s looking at me like he wants to
strangle me to death.
And I can’t blame him, because I just spilled an entire glass of wine right
onto his dick.
I hate clubs. I especially hate how loud and crowded they are. But my work
wife, Giorgia, convinced me to come out with her tonight. Since it’s
Saturday and I have no other plans basically ever, I figured I can skip
wearing my Snuggie on the couch for one evening to put on something
nice.
Now it’s an hour into my night, my feet ache, I’m teetering around like I’m
the newest member of a stilt-walking class, and this monster of a human is
staring at me like he’s going to squeeze my skull into paste with his thumb
and forefinger.
And I’ll deserve it.
Well, mostly. I was walking along trying to convince myself that actually
I’m having a lot of fun and I love going out when I bumped right into this
redwood of a human and he spilled the entire freezing-cold contents of his
drink right down the front of my dress.
Since I’m an absolute psychopath, instead of handling it like a grown-ass
adult with, like, rent and health insurance and a modicum of impulse
control, I immediately decided to go ahead and spill my own drink in the
guy’s lap as a form of petty revenge.
It was a knee-jerk reaction. Someone spilled on me so I spilled on them.
I’m not proud of myself, but there it is.
We’re both soaked through, and I’m completely at fault.
“I am so, so sorry,” I say, waving my hands in front of him as if I’m trying
to fan his pants dry. I’m definitely making things worse because now people
are looking and I’m waving at some stranger’s private area. Giorgia’s
somewhere in line getting herself a refill, which leaves me without backup,
and I’m pretty sure I’m in a whole ton of trouble.
The man steps forward. We’re lost in the middle of the crowd, surrounded
by strangers who are too drunk or too busy partying to care about what’s
happening. He’s enormous and muscular, and wearing a dark button-down
shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off a pair of gloriously veined
forearms.
I am a huge sucker for forearms, and this guy has a set like he
was sculpted from my most twisted fantasies. His dark, wavy hair is pushed
back haphazardly like he rolled out of bed ten minutes ago in that unkemptbut-sexy sort of way, and his deep brown eyes stare pure hate at me as his
gaze rakes up and down my body. I’d say he’s handsome, except it’s hard to
think a guy’s hot when he’s a few steps from pulverizing me into bloody
goo.
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