Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
The man was irresistible. I wanted to storm inside and pin him to the wall, but at the same time I didn’t want him to stop. I was enjoying this stolen moment, of getting a glimpse of him in the raw, singing—terribly—with abandon. Gone was the buttoned-up, big-city lawyer. Gone too was the shy man who stammered under my touch.
This was James. Pure, unadulterated, free.
Mine.
That’s what I felt more than anything in that moment. That I was the only one who got to see him like this.
He spun, stomping a foot against the floor in time with the song. Then his eyes landed on mine. He froze. I could see his mind whirring, trying to decide how to respond. Slowly he lowered the sledgehammer to the ground. Already I could see him retreating, second-guessing himself. A blush starting to creep up his neck.
“Don’t stop.” My voice came out a growl, low and commanding.
His top teeth sunk into his bottom teeth.
“Please,” I added.
Something shifted in his eyes, the pupils growing wide. He started singing again, slower, as he stalked toward me, letting the head of the sledgehammer trail along the ground. I only caught snippets of words, too distracted to glean their meaning when he pressed his palm against my chest and dragged it across to my shoulder. He stepped behind me and ground himself against my ass, and I groaned.
Both of his hands were on me now, roaming and grasping, his mouth hot and wet against my ear as he continued the song. He swiveled his hips, gyrating against me, moving until he faced me again. Then he dropped to his knees, whipping my belt free of its loops. Yanking open my shorts.
And then he was no longer singing, but humming, his mouth full of my throbbing cock. I hissed at the feel of him, my knees practically buckling. I thrust my hand into his hair, needing something to hold on to to steady myself.
“God, James, yes,” I groaned as the man worshipped my cock. Letting me out of his mouth only long enough to swipe his tongue over my balls, sucking lightly.
If he kept up with that I would be done in moments, and I wasn’t nearly ready for the night to end so quickly. Not when I hadn’t had my own opportunity to worship his body.
I curled my fingers in his hair, tipping his head back until he was looking up at me. “You’re fucking amazing,” I told him.
He smiled, his lips plump and wet and begging to be devoured. I hauled him to his feet and took his mouth in mine, kissing him as if he was air and I was starving for breath. I wanted to be closer, to feel his body against mine, and I pushed him back and back, needing more.
He yelped some kind of warning against my lips just before we collided with the wall. I pulled back, my fingertips hovering against his temple. “What was that?”
“I said, wet paint.”
I pulled my hand free from where I’d braced it against the wall. Sure enough, my palm was covered in white, sticky paint. I frowned, not understanding.
He lifted a shoulder, not quite meeting my eyes. “I knew you wouldn’t want to lose momentum on the renovation, but I also knew I wanted you to spend the night in my bed instead of working. So I thought I might try to get some work done so I could have you to myself without you worrying about falling behind.”
I glanced around the room. Sure enough, along the back wall new Sheetrock had been hung, taped, spackled, sanded, and painted with a fresh coat of primer. He must have gotten to work the moment I’d left. Which meant he’d neglected his own work to help me out.
I didn’t know what to say. It was one of the most thoughtful things anyone had ever done for me. My chest ached, my throat tightening. I was thrown back to the moment on the patio during the sunset, when his hand had clutched mine to his chest, his heartbeat thudding erratically under my touch. I’d had a similar feeling then, of wanting to pull him closer, hoping that if I held tight enough I could make him mine and he would never leave.
I was silent long enough that he added, “I hope that’s okay.” As if there was the chance I might be upset.
I blew out a breath. “Of course it is. It’s more than okay.” Without thinking, I brushed my palm against his cheek, leaving a streak of white.
“Did you just wipe paint on me?” he asked, grinning. It was enough to break the seriousness of the previous moment.
“Maybe just a little,” I teased, swiping a finger down his nose to add another streak.
He mock frowned. “I’ll have you know I just finished painting that wall, and I will not have my work disrespected.”