Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I didn't think hard about this rental. A place on the beach for the summer. One close enough for a day trip or a weekend holiday. It's only forty minutes in a helicopter. A few hours in a car or on the train. Close enough for an evening.
And it's blue and green everywhere. The colors I associate with her. One of the only things I knew about her when I signed the check for this rental.
It's an obvious choice. The colors of the ocean for a place by the beach.
The colors of my obsession for a place to fuck her.
Which is it?
The beach? Her body? Her heart?
I don't know.
I want to fuck her. I want to fuck her senseless. To bring her back to the bed, spread her thighs, drive into her until she's groaning in equal parts bliss and agony.
And I want to hold her, cook for her, feed her, listen to every thought in her head.
"Aren't you supposed to mock American excess?" She swings her stool so she's facing me. Drops her voice an octave. Attempts to put on a British accent. "Ah, you Yanks just love your big houses." She drops the impression. "Or something."
"Is that how I sound?"
She nods. Smiles that sly smile that lights up her gorgeous eyes. "It is ridiculous. Have you seen the size of houses in Iowa? The bedrooms are bigger than my apartment. Some of them are bigger than your apartment. Well, maybe not your apartment."
She slides off the stool. Looks to the dining room. A wide-open space with a long oak table, matching chairs, simple shell decorations.
"This room is bigger than your apartment," she says.
"Almost."
"And that's not excessive?"
"Why come to the States if not to enjoy excess?"
"Uh-huh." She turns to me. "When did you rent it?"
"This spring. Places in the Hamptons go fast."
"What do you… do with it?" Her eyes flit to the beach, then they're on me. "I just can't see it. You're still wearing your suit."
"I'm not wearing a tie."
Her cheeks flush at the memory. "It's still a suit."
I shake my head.
She nods. Moves closer. Until she's close enough to run her fingers over my suit-jacket. Up my arm then down the neckline. She undoes the button. Looks up at me can I?
I nod yes.
She peels the jacket off my shoulders then drapes it over hers.
Her eyes meet mine as she strikes a pose. "How do I look?"
"Fetching."
"I was going for dapper."
"You need trousers for that."
She smiles as she removes the jacket. "Should I put this somewhere?"
I motion to the stool.
"It won't mess up your… what does this cost?"
"What it's worth."
"Three figures or four?"
"I don't keep track."
"Uh-huh."
"How much did your frock cost?"
"A hundred-something dollars. A lot for me. But nothing compared to some of the things you've sent me."
My eyes trace a line over her body. She looks gorgeous draped in black chiffon. And she looks like Eve. "A bargain then."
Her teeth sink into her lip. Her eyes pass over me. Taking me in. Picturing me naked. "You stare the most when I'm naked."
"Do I?"
She nods. "Does that make the lingerie a waste?"
Not in a million years. "No."
"What do you like about it?"
"What do I like about knowing you're wearing the lingerie I bought you under your clothes? Is that actually a question?"
"Yes."
I motion for her to come here.
She sets the suit-jacket on a chair. Takes three steps toward me.
I wrap my arm around her waist. Bring my hand to the crook of her neck. "I like picturing you in it. Knowing something from me is on your body. On the most delicate parts of your body." I run my fingertips along her neck until she purrs. "It's our secret."
She nods.
"But if you'd like to wear nothing under your clothes. I'm not sure I can object to that."
Her eyes flutter closed. Her head falls to her right. Her hair goes with it.
That beautiful haze of pleasure.
I want to fuck her. Here. Now.
And I want to whisper promises in her ears all fucking night.
I bring my hand to my side.
She blinks her eyes open. Looks up at me with all that curiosity. Brings her hands to my button-up shirt. "Do you usually cook like this?"
"Of course not."
"Of course not?"
"Naked. Except for my apron."
Her laugh lights up her eyes. "Can I make that happen?"
I take her hands, bring them to my right sleeve. She rolls it to my elbow. Does the same with the left.
"This is not naked." Her fingers linger on the tattoo on my forearm. A geometric rose, shaded black. "But I like it. And this—" She traces the lines with her index finger. "A secret for me to unwrap."
"Oh?"
She nods. "When did you get it?"
"A long time ago."
"Is there a story?"
"My brother Ty. The day he turned eighteen. I told him we could do whatever we wanted for his birthday. He already had this picked out."