Un-Hate Me (Enemies to Lovers Romance) (DOM for Hire Book 3) Hazel Parker (free ebooks for android .TXT) 📖

“I got you. Just make sure you don’t rush into anything.”

The conversation thankfully drifted to lighter topics after that. Kelly talked about coming to Miami for another vacation but tried to get me to commit to coming to Colorado for one first. Going back to Colorado—or at least Breckenridge—was a bit of a tough ask. It wasn’t easy to want to return their after everything that went down.

We chatted a bit longer before Charlotte started crying in the background. I let Kelly go, wondering what it would be like to have my own daughter. I was left with the silence of my apartment, a feeling that I’d gotten a temporary reprieve from with the phone call to Kelly.

Kelly was right, he hadn’t even stuck around to make sure we were OK after killing Sean. Tenderness and empathy were probably not strong points of his, or at least not obviously strong points of his. But damnit, I was paying the man five million dollars and giving him a car that had made him break character.

I grabbed my phone and almost called him, but I knew full well he wouldn’t pick up. I instead texted him.

“Thanks for everything. Let me know if you want to meet up to discuss things further.”

I spent an embarrassing amount of time crafting that text for a woman in her late thirties.

Unfortunately, as the day progressed, Burke never responded. Either he sucked at texting, he didn’t want anything to do with me, or he’d somehow gotten too busy. I didn’t bother to think too long on it, as much as I could, anyway.

Chapter 8: Burke

I’d dealt with some serious shit in my life.

I’d found myself deep in jungles with Bulldog Ants, mosquitoes, and God knows what other monsters of the deep crawling up on me. I’d been at sea in the middle of brutal storms that made me question if I would live another day. I’d been in lands so dangerous, crawling with criminals and warlords, that merely exposing my face could have gotten me shot on the spot.

But none of them quite flustered me like the moment that I walked into the clinic.

First of all, I immediately wondered why the fuck I couldn’t have just jacked off on my own time and transported the sperm later. I knew that there was a timing thing, but for fuck’s sake, I wasn’t trying to defuse a bomb in a minute. It actually made me wonder if there was some deeper plot going on with Emily that I didn’t know about. I tried not to think about it, but fuck, a paranoid mind was a difficult thing to tell to shut the fuck up.

Second of all, I’d had to avoid jacking off for three days, which organically had happened, but it meant all of yesterday evening, after I’d agreed to the deal with Emily, I had to walk around the city of arguably the most beautiful women in America and not so much as place my hand on my lap. I felt like an awkward teenager all over again, surrounded by hot girls and unable to do a damn thing about it. Ridiculous in one sense, but given five million was waiting on the other side, completely logical.

Third of all, there was a weird feeling going up and talking to the receptionist. I had a private room for me, but what the hell was I supposed to say to the receptionist?

“Hi, I’m Burke. I’m here to go to the private room so I can look at this video of this Brazilian gal eating out a Japanese chick to get hard enough to jack off into a cup? I sure hope I have good aim!”

I mean, for fuck’s sake. At least in danger, you had to keep your wits and focus about you and there was something stoic about it. Here, I would have killed to lose my wits and focus—except not only would my body and mind never allow me to do that, the rules of the clinic had dictated I not drink any alcohol twenty-four hours before. It was too far of a stretch to say that following all the rules felt like being in prison, but it wasn’t a stretch to say the lifestyle I had to follow for a few hours was far, far, far more restrictive than what I had to deal with on a day-to-day basis.

Five million fucking dollars wasn’t worth this embarrassment. Fifty million was a one-time shot. Five hundred million, and maybe you could convince me to do this more than once.

But holy fuck, if Scott or Liam ever found out about this, I would have preferred for Snake to cut off my cock. I would never hear the end of it.

Despite what I was sure was a less-than-amusing attitude on my part, the receptionist led me to my room. And then, when we got inside, it somehow got worse.

“First, understand, please, no lube. And that includes saliva. We need a pure sample as possible.”

Jesus Christ, did donating sperm include getting rub burns on your cock? No lube? Not even at the fucking base?

“Second, make sure you get the first ejaculate into the cup. It’s the most sperm-rich.”

Holy hell, it was like being back in fifth grade and learning about sex for the first time. Maybe the teacher could go to the front of the class and use scientific terms. There was just something so very unappealing and very unsexy about hearing things like “ejaculate” and “sperm-rich.” If I had to pick something to kill a boner, this talk would be it.

“As soon as you finish ejaculating into the cup, please place the seal on it and place it in the drop-off bin right there. Make sure your information on