Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“About that. Why did you do it?” I question.
“Why are you naked?” he asks, his eyes hard. I lean in, and when I’m close enough, I see specks of green in his eyes.
“It’s my shower. You invited yourself in.” I breathe in his face.
“I see you brushed your teeth,” he mentions, not making a move to back up.
“I see you’re still an asshole.” My hand goes to my naked hip and rests there. Before I can say or do anything, he moves. I gasp as his hand goes to my throat, gripping it as his lips meet mine.
Holy shit.
What is he doing?
And why am I not pushing him away?
He squeezes a little tighter around my throat, and my hands reach up and hold onto his shoulders. It all happens so fast, and I’m not even sure I’m fully there as I experience it. Somehow my body—my very naked body—finds his, and now I am leaning against him. His other hand slides down my side until it grasps my hip, holding me still.
With his lips moving against mine, my mouth parts. He takes that invitation and slips his tongue in, eliciting a moan that I try and fail to suppress. He tastes like peppermint and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. His tongue plays with mine in a slow, sexual motion, one I have never felt before. It’s like he’s savoring every inch of me.
I pull away with widening eyes, and our lips separate, his hands falling back to his sides. We both stare at each other in a shared state of shock. Then, I lift my hand and slap him across the face.
He smirks at the contact, then turns and stalks out, leaving me standing there with wetness between my legs that isn’t from the shower. That realization has me groaning with frustration. I get dressed as fast as I can, then leave my room to find him at the kitchen counter on his phone. He doesn’t look up at me as I approach.
“I’m ready,” I state, my eyes narrowing when he finishes what he’s typing before glancing over his shoulder at me.
“So you can get ready on time. Look at that.” He slides his phone into his pocket and turns to face me fully. “Your lips are pink.”
“That’s because some asshole kissed them.”
Leaving me with a shrug, I watch him stride out the door. With a huff, I grab my expensive bag and reluctantly follow him out. When I get to the car, he holds out a cup toward me. I study it for a moment, then raise my eyes to his, waiting for an explanation.
“It’s for your hangover. Drink it.”
“It probably has poison in it,” I say, scrunching my nose and refusing to take whatever that is from him.
“Are you allergic to anything?” he asks.
What type of question is that?
“No, are you?”
“Yes, actually. Shellfish. Now, drink it.” Rolling my eyes, I take it, and he starts the car and pulls out onto the street. The first sip isn’t all that bad—I’m not sure what it is, but it tastes okay. He stops, pulls up to the main shopping area, and parks the car.
“What’s this?”
“Beds. We need new ones.” He gets out, and I look at the furniture store in front of us. I climb out of the car, then toss the remainder of my drink in the trash as he walks through the door.
“Hi, how can I help you today?”
Grayson doesn’t respond to the sale associate, so she turns her attention to me.
“We need a few beds. What are some of the best ones you have?”
“Any kind in particular?” she asks.
“Yes, ones that you can tie your partner to,” I answer.
Grayson turns back and looks at me with a smile.
The sales associate’s expression gives away her shock before she nods and says, “Follow me.” She leads us to a bed with four posts.
Grayson nods. “I’ll take it,” he tells her.
The sales lady looks at us, surprised. “Will that be all?” she asks.
“No, we need a few more. Any others you recommend?” he asks, as my stomach growls loudly. Grayson shoots me a look.
“What? You made me come here and didn’t bother feeding me first.” I purse my lips.
He goes off with the sales associate as I sit on one of the beds. I lie back, and just as I’m about to doze off, his hand lands on my thigh, shaking me. “Get up.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl before getting up and following him out.
Grayson doesn’t speak when we get back in the car, which is fine with me. He drives us to a restaurant, where the valet takes his keys as he walks around to my side of the car. “Get out,” he orders.
“You are so demanding and so damn annoying,” I tell him, but I do as he says.