Read Perv (Filth #1) for Free Online Page B

I've missed...me. I've been a ghost of myself for almost a year. Shit, a ghost of a person. Now, I may not have let random men stick their hands up my skirt, but I'd flirt, I'd tease, and I'd let a man know it's going to take a lot more to impress me. We would both know I'm letting them into my bed and if they ask nicely, they can tie me up and spank me.
    Once again, I imagine Nate with a flogger gripped in his hand. He's shirtless and the golden hairs dusting his chest seem stark against his tanned skin.
    It's six thousand kinds of wrong but now I can't shake the image. I can't help but imagine his head between my legs as I let him indulge his fetish.
    “ I'm actually thinking about this.” There's a huskiness to my voice. “You're a horrible influence.”
    “ You'll thank me by giving me every single detail.”
    I laugh, and I feel light for the first time in a long while. I steal a glance at him. He's on his phone. He's really going to wait. I'm going to give him a hard time, but once, just this once, I'm going to have him in my bed. I won't be fool enough to fall for him.

~CHAPTER FOUR~
     
    Two hours later I'm ready to flip some tables. The redhead—Samantha, refuses to shut the fuck up. She’s chatting about her family, their other friends, their boyfriends, their future imaginary children. And not once does she say Stealth's name. She is useless and refuses to leave.
    I spend two hours texting Tarek about all the ways I must have lost my damn mind. He laughs through most of the conversation and promises to forward the whole thing to Duke. Mostly to make sure Duke never lets me hire one of his paralegals again to stalk a woman.
    Eventually the torture of gossip ends, and the redhead leaves. I have about zero pride left, so I get up and order Stealth another drink and bring it to her since she's long since finished her first one. And Samantha threw it away on her way out. I'm not desperate enough to dig through the trash.
    I do have some standards.
    “ How do you have money?” she asks me, amusement bright in her brown eyes.
    Important point: She takes my drink.
    Now I know I keep generalizing women, but I've made a study of them and their tics. If they do not like you, don't care for you, won't piss on you if you're on fire, they won't accept any kind of food from you. They can be dying from thirst and you offer them a water? They'd rather wither away to dust.
    She takes the tea. She might like telling me to fuck off and die, but she doesn't hate me.
    I offer her a smile and I know the scar on my cheek indents deep enough I appear harmless. “I have money because my mama taught me to save my pennies.”
    “ Did she screw you up or were you born this twisted?”
    “ My mama is a tried and true Southern belle who will shoot you with her .357 if you piss her off. I love her dearly.”
    Her brows go up, and I know what she's thinking. A Georgia boy, a Southern belle mama...my ancestors probably owned hers.
    I wait for her to ask about the Confederate flag, but instead she smiles at me—the eye-crinkle one that makes my dick hard.
    “ So you were born twisted, and that likely means you don't care about anyone but yourself.”
    True, and there's no point in denying her words. “Are you going to ask me?”
    “ About...” She tries to play dumb but I stare her down. She relents with a sigh. “If you were a racist douchebag, you would have said something by now that would show me.”
    Yup. I like her. “I'm twisted, and what are you?”
    “ Vindictive when my friends or associates can't be.”
    I'm proof of her statement. “What do you do?”
    “ Do you really care?”
    “ I want to know everything about you.”
    “ And then?”
    “ I can tell you to fuck off and mean it.”
    Not a flinch in sight.
    “ Let's put it this way,” she says. “I know Duke in passing.”
    Interesting. “How do you know I know Duke?”
    She doesn't blink. “I know everything about you, remember?”
    Sounds like a lie. I