Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
It almost feels a sin to tear my eyes away, but eventually, I manage to. I slip out of bed, go to the bathroom, brush my hair and teeth, and stare at myself in the mirror, wondering how this girl wound up in bed with Brooks Gentry. He has all those fans, can have any woman he wants, and yet… he chose me.
The thought makes those goosebumps pop out all over again.
Then I slip on my white terry robe and open the door, finding him just sitting up in bed, a sleepy look in his eyes. He yawns and his eyes fall on me, making my heart somersault in my chest. “Hey. You getting up?”
I nod. “I was going to make breakfast.”
He grabs his phone and checks the time. “Good idea. I’m starved.”
He probably should be, after all the work he put in last night. I’ve never come before when someone else was around. With Brooks? Six times. Six. He knew how to play my body like an instrument, like a world-famous musician.
I knew he’d be good, but now I can’t help looking at him in awe, like he’s some kind of god.
“Okay!” I say, way more chipper than I usually am. “Just give me a few!”
I sail out of the room, thinking, Okay, that wasn’t too awkward. He didn’t say anything about regret.
In the kitchen, I find the groceries that I’d put away while he was in the bathroom last night. I take everything out, trying to be blasé in the wake of last night, as if that kind of thing happens to me all the time. But as I’m cracking eggs for the egg-white omelets, I keep overthinking everything. All of last night. Every single word he said to me. All the times he told me how good I felt or how he groaned as he pushed inside me. It’s enough to make those goosebumps multiply on my skin, making me shiver every two seconds.
I’m so deep in thought that I don’t realize he’s crept up behind me until I feel his presence, like electricity zinging between us, even though he doesn’t actually touch me. “What are you making?”
I jump a little. “Omelets? Um, with just the egg whites,” I stammer, averting his eyes. “In case you’re into health. As you probably are, because…” because you have the most beautiful body I have ever seen.
Oh my god. Why am I so nervous around him?
“Need help?” He’s so close I can feel his warm breath, fanning my cheek. It’s enough to make me spin and beg him to take me right there.
I control myself.
“No. You just sit.”
He pads over to the table, wearing just his boxer briefs, and slips into the chair, just as casual as can be. I crack an egg, and my fingers shake so much that I get a bunch of shell pieces in the bowl. I try to fish them out, again and again, but the shell keeps slipping away from my fingertip. “Ugh.”
He probably thinks I’m a moron. “Sure you don’t need help?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Smells good.”
I turn to gaze at him, then stop myself. I don’t need to make myself even more nervous by looking at his perfection. “I haven’t even started cooking yet.”
I venture a look as I reach down to grab the pan, using my hair as a veil to hide it, and see him watching me, a hungry look on his face. Does he want another round?
Oh God. So do I. The second I think about it, my nipples pucker against the robe. I straighten, pan in hand, and go to the kitchen to pull out the milk for the eggs. I only realize I’ve pulled out the orange juice when I’ve poured it in with the eggs.
Gross.
I sigh and glance over at him. How can he be that relaxed? And why is it that I’m a bumbling idiot?
At least he doesn’t notice.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks me.
I take it back. He’s noticing.
I force a smile as I stare into the bowl, wondering if it can be salvaged. Probably not. Damn. “Oh, yeah. Never better,” I say.
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “You sure?”
“A hundred percent.” I’m not looking at him. I’m looking at my toaster and realizing I don’t have any butter. Jelly. Or anything.
This is going to be the worst breakfast ever.
He pushes away from the table, manspreading on the chair. He hooks a finger at me, gazing at me in a way that makes fresh need bloom deep inside me. “Come here.”
I toss the egg-mixture into the sink and reach for a couple of fresh eggs. “Why? I need to—”
“Later.”
He’s very convincing. I can’t say no. I step over to him, trying to figure out what’s on his mind.
When I get there, eyes still boring into mine, he takes the bowl and sets it on the table. Then he drags a hand under my robe, cupping my ass, pulling me toward him. Closer… closer, until I have no choice but to mount and straddle his lap.