Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
How was this my life? How had I gone from his secretary to…to whatever we were now?
“Are you going to stand there and stare or are you going to get your ass in here and join me?” Alek asked, his voice rough as he turned around to face me, a gleam in his eyes.
I finally stepped into the shower, closing the glass door behind me. My nipples peaked from the change in temperature, and Alek’s gaze was heated as he trailed the length of my body.
“You’re exquisite,” he said when I reached him and stepped under the water.
I gasped at how hot it was, but enjoyed the shock that sent chills along my skin.
That quickly, Alek’s hands were on me, gliding with soapy suds over my breasts, my stomach, my thighs. I arched into every touch, my senses on fire wherever his fingers grazed. All innocent, all too light, leaving me needy and breathless.
Alek gripped my hips, moving me beneath the stream of water to rinse my body of the pine-scented soap, then pressed my spine against the marble wall. He towered over me, caging me in with his muscled arms, and I trailed my fingers over the carved lines of his stomach before he shifted and slowly dropped to his knees before me.
I gasped as he parted my thighs, his mouth hovering an inch from where I was aching for him.
“You want my tongue, Lyr?” Alek asked in the most teasing, sensual tone.
I looked down at him, and he smirked, holding me there in the sweetest anticipation. The gold flecks in his hazel eyes seemed to melt as he met my eyes.
“Say you want it,” he demanded—
Wait.
I scrunched my brow and shook my head, staring at the Word document on my screen.
“Since when does Alek have hazel eyes?” I asked my empty apartment, leaning my head in my hands as I blew out a breath.
I re-read the last paragraph and cringed.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’d switched my hero Alek’s signature arctic-blue eyes to a rich hazel, with swirls of green and brown and gold.
“Ugh,” I groaned aloud, hurrying to fix the mistake. I shoved away from my desk, needing to move and shake out my hands.
I’d made Alek more like Asher. What the hell was I doing?
I paced my apartment, grabbing a bottle of tea from the fridge and taking a few good long drinks. The icy liquid did nothing to cool down the heat sizzling inside me and it certainly couldn’t stop the scene that was playing repeat in my head.
Instead of Alek and Lyric in the shower scene, it was me and Asher. The water making his skin slick beneath my fingers as I explored the way his body felt—
No, no, no.
It was one thing to fantasize about Asher on my own time, but I sure as hell wouldn’t do it on the clock. And what in the blue hell, anyway? I’d never, not once, envisioned my characters as anyone from real life. Sure, I used characteristics from those closest to me, but they were tiny details that didn’t change who the character actually was…which was fictional.
I shook my head, making it to my bedroom and falling onto my bed. Maybe I just needed a break. Needed time to separate the very real-life cravings I was having for an unattainable man and the very fictional book I was writing about someone with a similar lifestyle. Okay, I could see how my streams got crossed, but I needed to put an end to that right now.
I rolled onto my back, dead-set on taking a twenty-minute nap despite the fact that I needed to be up in six hours to meet with the billionaire I couldn’t get off my mind.
That kiss.
It was absolutely the kiss’s fault that I couldn’t focus while writing. I’d heard of authors having writer’s block before, but I’d somehow always escaped the curse. And this wasn’t exactly a block as much as it was a distraction.
A really handsome, funny, brilliant, smells-too-damn-good distraction.
I reached for my phone across the bed and swiped open the screen. It was ten p.m. which meant Asher was likely just finishing up reading. I had half a mind to shoot him a text and blame him for my inability to finish the scene. Maybe I could ask him to just put me out of my misery and finish what we started when he kissed me. Maybe then I’d be able to finish this book.
Pulling up his contact info, I couldn’t help but smile at the picture I’d snapped of him when I’d saved his number. He’d taken off his suit jacket, his white shirt-sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he leaned over his desk. He’d glanced up at me because I’d said his name, and there was this almost-smile on his lips, but his eyes gave away something I still hadn’t put my finger on—amusement or annoyance or a little bit of both. Either way, he looked…perfect. Because that’s who he was.