Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 151(@200wpm)___ 121(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the business trip,” he says, kissing my mouth passionately, fingers combing through my hair. “It’s why I was so stressed when you got here. I don’t want to leave you, baby. I was arranging to bring you along, but Paul asked to come. I’ve been gone every night, with you at the hotel. Absent. I couldn’t say no to him.”
“I understand,” I whisper, reveling in the mauling of my mouth, his hands all over me, groping my bottom and breasts and hips. “I understand, Papa.”
That’s not a lie. I do understand. The last thing I want is for Gunner to neglect my best friend. But nothing about his explanation repairs my flagging heart.
Groaning over my use of the word Papa, Gunner sits back in his chair and strips my skirt down to the floor, his erection already stiffening again in his lap, his eyes wild on my wet, green panties. “Get on and ride it,” he growls. “Remind me again that I’m the luckiest man alive.”
And dutifully, I do. I ride him until his eyes roll back in his head, until my own orgasm blinds me, our flesh slapping roughly in the silence of the office, the words I love you lodged in my throat, begging to be let out.
Chapter Seven
Gunner
Something is wrong.
The first couple days of my business trip, Josie is her usual, incredible self when I call her at night or between meetings. Her voice is soft and inviting in my ear, she tells me she misses me, asks if I’m taking stress breaks. Late at night, she sends me mirror selfies from our hotel suite wearing nothing but a scrap of yellow material that vaguely resembles panties—and purrs to me over the speakerphone while I jack myself raw in the bathroom.
But at some point, her tone loses its usual brightness. She sounds almost sad? Although she won’t tell me why so I can fix it. No amount of gifts sent to her doorstep seems to help. Finally, she stops answering my calls altogether. I can’t concentrate on a single thing. I can’t think about anything but her, replaying our last ten conversations, trying to figure out if I missed something. How the hell have I fucked this up so fast?
I miss her. Beyond belief. I’m sick without her.
I was an idiot to think I could spend this much time away from Josie and not go berserk.
For someone so worried about giving me a heart attack, she’s certainly got the damn thing firing on all cylinders in my chest. Good thing Paul almost never looks up from his phone or he would notice that I’m sweating bullets, even in the air conditioning of the charter club. As we wait to board my jet, my insides are in shreds. I’ve pulled some strings and sent a local cop to make sure Josie is safe and she’s fine. Swimming in her lavish pool, meeting friends for lunch, going to the gym and the beach. Usual summer activities. Nothing that would prevent her from answering my calls, though.
If I don’t hold her soon, I’m going to lose my head.
Unfortunately, a storm keeps us grounded half of Sunday night. By the time we’re able to fly safely, it’s Monday morning and my assistant calls to remind me of the round of golf I have schedule with John, Josie’s father, in just a few hours. There’s no way I can make it. I’m tied in knots and my legs feel like lead—not the ideal condition for a friendly golf game.
After we land, I call John to cancel from the tarmac.
My plan is to take Paul home and track down Josie.
I need to understand what’s wrong and repair it. I need her to climb into my lap and whisper into my neck and make me feel whole. She’s the only one who does.
I’m in love with her.
Jesus.
I’m in love with this eighteen-year-old who’s been coming to my house since middle school, who has transformed into a young adult. I’m in love with her unique perspective, the way she cares, her giggle, her touch, her spontaneity and optimism. She’s my little girl. She’s my…girlfriend. She’s mine. Why the hell has she cut me off?
John answers in my ear as I’m handing my luggage to our driver and climbing into the back of the limousine. “Hello, John—”
“I’m throwing the ol’ clubs into my trunk as we speak,” he says. “Our tee time at the club is eleven fifteen.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, rubbing my gritty eyes with my thumb and index finger. Paul slept on the flight, but I couldn’t manage to close my eyes for a second. “Listen, about our game—”
“Bring Paul along, if you can. Josie is going to be there later on. They can hang out at the pool while we hit some balls.”