Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
His grip on her throat tightened, and in the next breath, she was thrown back on the bed, gasping as her airway finally cleared.
Nino towered over her, hands steadily unfastening his belt as his eyes raked over her lean frame.
I swallowed, heat creeping down my neck, my spine, all the way to my toes as I soaked in the scene. One hand held my book open while the other explored, touching my neck the way Nino touched Francesca’s, following his lead as he tortured her slowly. I heaved a sigh as my hand trailed over my breasts, and then I tiptoed my way down, slipping my fingertips beneath the band of my sleep shorts.
“On your knees,” he commanded.
I shuddered, licking my bottom lip as I rolled my hips, my hand sliding lower. I spread my legs, wanting more access…
And kicked the bowl of Cheetos off the bed in the process.
“Shit!” I cursed as the orange snack littered my floor, the metal bowl that held the crunchy nuggets clanging loudly against the old wood. I hastily rolled out of bed, smashing a few Cheetos to dust in the process, which made me curse again.
After a quick clean up, I flopped back into my bed, staring at where I’d left that scene bookmarked and closed in the center of the bed.
I wanted that so badly — the passion, the need, the heat. I wanted Shawn to look at me that way, with possessive desire rolling off him in plumes. I wanted him to kiss me the way Clay had, for it to not be a joke or a pretense, but real.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, considering whether or not I should just pick up where I left off in my self-care. But instead, I rolled over onto my stomach, reaching for where my phone rested on the wireless charger on my bedside table. A few taps later and it was ringing.
“Hello, Kitten,” Clay’s voice purred, deep and seductive in a way that made me believe he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
I chewed my thumbnail, but before I could back out, I took a breath and spoke as confidently as I could.
“I think I’m ready for my first lesson.”
Giana
“Can you focus?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m focusing,” Clay said Friday night, licking the pad of his thumb as he swiped another page of one of my books.
I huffed, crossing my bedroom to swipe the book out of his hands and put it back on the shelf. I made sure it was in its right place before I held up the two dress options again.
“Which one?”
“That’s what I want to know. Which one is Cheyanne going to choose?” He shook his head, thrusting a hand toward the bookshelf. “I mean, her husband who loves her and made vows, or her first love who’s back in town and can’t live without her?”
“Her husband is a cheating asshole and a narcissist, and Roland is God’s gift to the Earth. So, spoiler alert, she runs off with him.”
“Scandalous,” Clay said, quirking a brow at the shelf.
I snapped my fingers. “Focus.”
I held up the hangers in each hand, and Clay folded one arm across his barrel of a chest, balancing the opposite elbow on his wrist as he smoothed a hand over his jaw in consideration.
After I’d called him the other night, we’d decided this was the best time for our first lesson. The season opener was tomorrow afternoon, which meant Coach gave the team the evening off to rest and get ready.
Of course, only about half the team would actually rest. The remaining half would be out partying and hoping like hell they weren’t too hungover to play at their best tomorrow.
I imagined Clay would be in that latter group, had he not been saddled with me. But this was all his idea in the first place, and I reminded myself of that as I waited for him to tell me what the hell to wear.
“Neither one of them feels like you,” he said after a long pause.
I sighed, the hangers dropping to my sides, dresses on the floor. “Of course not. I bought them today with that exact intention.”
“Why?” Clay shook his head, taking the hangers out of my hands and crossing to my closet. He stuck the dresses in haphazardly and then started filtering through my clothes.
“Excuse me,” I said, slipping between him and my twenty skirts before I pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him back. “A little privacy, please?”
“You asked for my help.”
“Just… sit,” I said, pointing to my bed as I turned back around. I hung my hands on my hips, not happy with anything staring back at me — at least, not for this.
There were no fashion guidebooks on What to Wear to Seduce Your Crush by Using Your Fake Boyfriend.