Could it be the bad boy's gaze? [ON HOLD]

Could it be the bad boy's gaze? [ON HOLD]

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WpMetadataReadVoor volwassenenLopende6u 45m
WpMetadataNoticeLaatst gepubliceerd don, mei 24, 2018
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Fictie
Romantiek
She's not your typical high school girl. He's not your typical high school bad boy. She likes motorbiking. So does he. He's an adrenaline junkie. So is she. He's in America, she's moving from France. Her mother is dead, her brother is in a coma, her father is depressed and she, is mute. His mother is dead, so is his father, he has no siblings, and he, is deadly. Blake Blanc. French girl, motorist, badass. Forest Black. Italian boy, motorist, badass. Sparks fly, so do fists. Eyes search and so does the stalker. She is being followed, she knows it. Or is she just paranoid. He is rough, dangerous, deadly, he knows it. Or does he just want to be loved. She's traumatised by the accident, He's traumatised by the lifestyle. With constant chills, constant races, constant bad guys, what can they do? Help each other out. --------- Warning!° -language -violence -MATURE SCENES -abuse This is my second book, please do not judge on my writing style, I usually update once a week on Mondays at 18:00 CAT
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VELOCITY

She steps past me, hips swaying deliberately, pulling me in like a predator. Her helmet is fixed forward but her voice stalks me like a shadow no amount of light can take away. Slowly, deliberately, she slides her slender gloved hand down the cool metal tab of her fireproof suit. Her fingers curl around the zipper by her throat. With a tug, it dips lower over her chest. The neckline plunges into shadow, nothing hiding her recklessness. I lean in and press my fingers to the collar of her suit, and slowly drag them to the dip underneath her belly button where the zipper ends. She tenses suddenly, her breath catching. "You wanna flirt, fine," I say. "Beauty might buy you an audience, but it won't buy you speed." I slowly drag the zipper back up. "Maybe I want someone to call it," She says silkily. I bridge the ever-closing gap between us, my voice barely a thread. "Then stop hiding behind helmets, Angel." -------------------------------------------- Even through the thick smoke, the helmet, and the roar of the engines, he can't take his eyes off her. Not 𝙀𝙡𝙤𝙞𝙨𝙚, the composed girl with the gentle eyes and kind smile. 𝙑𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮. The ghost who races like a warning, the myth with steel in her veins. The one who's been haunting the streets and humiliating his crew, one win at a time. And he's obsessed.

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