Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 40969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
SEVENTEEN
Celeste
It didn’t take me long to get ready, from start to finish. I was showered, lathered with tinted moisturizer, dressed, and done all within the time frame I gave Wylde. The outfit I selected wasn’t meant for an upscale dinner, more for comfort while still looking stylish, and honestly, the reason I didn’t want to wear my work scrubs out to dinner was simple, really. While yes, I’m in an air-conditioned building, you still sweat, and no one wants to be around a man like Wylde stinking of body odor.
There’s noise coming from the living room as I walk down the hall, having already closed my bedroom door. No way am I opening that scenario yet, even if my traitorous body has entirely too many dangerous thoughts, dreams, and wild fantasies, no pun intended. I look down at my outfit again. The white bodysuit paired with floral wide-leg pull-on pants and wedges really came together. The jewelry is probably what helped the most. Luckily enough, when I pulled my hair out of the ponytail it was in all day, it left me with a tousled look.
I stop short at the end of the hallway, expecting to find Wylde watching whatever I heard while I was getting ready. I’m assuming it’s sports because I heard whistles being blown. He’s not watching television, though. “And so he sleeps,” I whisper out quietly, gently taking off my shoes so as not to wake him. I’m sure it’s not every day he gets to be away from the hotel and casino. I veer towards the entry, grab my phone from the basket I dropped it in along with my keys, and pull up the app where I’m guaranteed thirty-minute delivery. It’s from the same place I suggested earlier. I order a bit of everything. The rumbling of my stomach reminds me that lunch was a long time ago. Even if I don’t know what Wylde would usually order, I figure if I get a few appetizers and a multitude of entrees, he’ll find something he likes. I don’t order out often, but it’s easier than cooking every single night even though I usually meal prep for the week, making it easier for late nights. It hasn’t happened lately seeing how my days have been forwards and backwards along with everything in between when it comes to work. God, I can’t wait for Sunday, when I can sleep in, veg on the couch, and not put anything on besides the pajamas I wear to bed. Once the order is placed, I move to the chair on the other side of the couch. There’s a basket where I keep all of the blankets I’ve been given, mostly from clients at Christmas time, some from my parents when they traveled to a certain area and knew it was right up my alley with the décor of my place.
I’m quietly draping the softest blanket I have across Wylde’s body. His head is tipped back along the back of the sofa, feet are sprawled out, hands hanging loosely on his thighs. God, this man is like an aphrodisiac that goes straight to your senses. It doesn’t seem to matter that the logical side of my brain is telling me that we haven’t known one another long enough, especially when it seems my heart and body are willing to dive in headfirst.
“Wylde.” His name tumbles off my lips as I feel him move so quickly, the blanket drops from my hands. He has me underneath him, body hovering above mine, faster than I could blink. “You were asleep. You didn’t have to wake up on my account.” A piece of his hair is hanging over his forehead, blocking one light brown eye from my view. I can’t help but brush it out of the way, keeping my hand locked in his hair.
“And miss this? No fucking way.” He shifts his body until my thighs are spread open, hands on either side of my face, and when he lowers himself, my breath catches in my throat. His body dips as he drags his hips along the way until I can feel his long, heavy thickness. It’s as if he wasn’t asleep, as if the slumber didn’t take him over or anything. One minute, he’s literally breathing so heavily he doesn’t hear my phone or my feet along the carpeted floor, and the next here he is, so close I can feel the heat coming off his body, smell the cologne he’s wearing. Wylde goes in for the kill. The one thing that makes me absolutely weak for this man is his lips against mine, the light abrasion of his beard, his tongue thrusting inside my mouth along with the motion of his hips. I’m a whimpering, pleading mess, cursing myself out internally for not wearing a dress like last time, my core aching for the pleasure it seems anything Wylder Hayes related can give to me.