Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
She pulls away from me, a sweet swoosh of her perfume teasing my nostrils as she enters the suite. My fingers curl into my fists as I resist reaching for her. I inhale for control and let out a breath before I follow her into the luxury suite, seeing what she sees. Gray hardwood floors. An oriental rug beneath gray leather couches that frame a stone fireplace with floor-to-ceiling windows on either side. A stone and glass table to our left. Winding stairs to our right.
She stops just outside the line of the living area and I could step behind her, pull her skirt up and lean her over the couch. My cock presses against my zipper, thick and hard with the thought of it. I’d be inside her in about thirty seconds, which includes rolling on the condom, and she’d be wet and hot and tight, and holy fuck, I’ve had this woman on my mind all day; this isn’t ending that fast.
I step to her side, close enough to inhale another addictive whiff of her scent, but not quite close enough to touch her. “This is the hotel’s version of the penthouse suite, isn’t it?” she asks, glancing over at me.
“It is,” I say. “I’ve been here off and on for a few months, and it just made sense to be comfortable.”
She glances over at me. “The mid-size firm isn’t a mid-size firm, is it?”
“Not that mid-size,” I confirm.
She rotates to face me. “You’re rich.”
I turn to face her as well. “Rich is a term that can be defined in many ways, but setting that aside, do I have money? Yes. I have a comfortable amount of money.”
She stares at me, her expression unreadable, but there is this sharp bite of energy before she turns away from me and leans against the couch, her fingers grabbing onto the cushion. Tense, shutting me out, or rather, trying to. I have a typical guy moment, where I consider the answer to her mood by way of how much I want to fuck her. If I repeat the hallway fantasy against the couch, we could be fucking, and fucking every thought she has away. Puzzle solved. We are fucking great at fucking together, only that’s not the puzzle. She is.
I move to stand in front of her, close, but I still don’t touch her. “Why does me having money bother you?” I ask.
Her chin lifts, eyes glinting almost defiantly. “Who says it bothers me?”
“Me,” I say, “I do. I felt it in your reaction. I feel it now. I see it in your eyes.”
“You see nothing in my eyes,” she counters. “Your courtroom read might be good, but my courtroom mask is just as good.”
“We aren’t in a courtroom,” I point out. “We’re in a hotel room. My money bothers you.”
“You having money is a non-factor. This is one night. We’re fucking or we’re supposed to be. We’re not proposing marriage.”
“Most women start plotting the wedding when they find out I have money.”
“I can make my own money.”
My hands come down on her waist while hers immediately come down on mine. A sign that she is out of her element, seeking control that I’m going to demand she give up. “Is that the issue?” I demand softly, my head low, a lean in from kissing her. “You feel competitive?”
“No,” she says immediately, pulling back to look at me, her hand flattening on my chest. “Not at all. I don’t feel competitive. We aren’t competing.”
“No?” I challenge.
“No,” she repeats.
“Any second thoughts about coming here?”
“No,” she says again.
“Then you still want me to fuck you,” I say.
“No,” she says. “I want to fuck you.”
I laugh because she isn’t being bold and sexy. She’s playing tug of war. “No competition though, right?”
“That’s not competing. It’s stating a fact.”
“You can fuck me when I tell you to fuck me.”
She laughs. “You’re competitive.”
“And I always win.”
“Not with me.”
“Interesting,” I say, damn glad I didn’t just fuck her hard and fast. I’m going to enjoy this tug of war she’s playing. And I’m going to make sure she not only enjoys it, but that she wants more. “Come with me,” I say, releasing her and starting to walk toward the bedroom. My tug. Her war.
Chapter five
Lori
Iwatch Cole walk away, and I know he’s pulling a power play on me. I work with attorneys. I went to Stanford. I get it. I also know that he’s intentionally given me the gift of freedom. I’m alone by the front door. I can leave if I want to leave. That, along with the fact that this man is really pure hotness, affects me. Makes me not want to leave. Makes me want to stay. Makes me want him all the more. I like that he wants me to choose to be here. I like that I know that while he will battle me for control, that he’s also sent me an important message. It’s always my choice what I give him. Not that “always” is an appropriate word. This is about tonight, one night, and tonight it’s my choice.