Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
My eyes go to Jasmine as she walks into the room.
Everyone's eyes go to her. She steals all the attention.
Fuck, that dress.
Right now I don't give a fuck about Ian's drink. About any drink. About anything except spreading her open and making her come.
He takes a long sip. "You really don't deserve her."
For the first time in forever, I'm barely interested in the alcohol three feet away.
I'm not thinking about the taste of bourbon on my lips.
The taste of her cunt is so much more appealing.
I always want her. And, according to my therapist (another requirement of an agreement with a family member, though this time I can thank my brother), I did a bang-up job replacing alcohol with sex. Only no matter how deep my craving for control, it never replaced my desire for a drink.
It's always there, in the back of my mind.
Only right now, it isn't.
Right now, there's only one thing in my mind.
Jasmine.
She stops at the host stand. Points to our table.
From across the room, her eyes meet mine. She holds up her bag—a tiny black thing with a silver clasp—then she holds it against her chest, daring my eyes to follow her movement.
They don't need the help. That thing is cut almost all the way to her belly-button. Soft silk skims her slim body. Shows off inches of tan skin.
She turns, points out something to the host. God knows what it is. God knows what my fucking name is.
The dress is backless. It swoops low, to the very top of her perky ass, then drapes over her long legs.
My gaze stays fixed on her as the host leads her to our table. Fuck, the way the fabric falls over her thigh as she walks. That slit is high. High enough I could make her come right here, under the table.
I should push her to the edge and leave her wanting. I should punish her for daring me. I should hate that she's daring me.
But I don't. I love it. That's the Jasmine I know. The girl who disarms people with a smile so they barely notice her fierce, defiant nature.
She plays nice on the surface, but underneath—
She's playing dirty with me. Which means I can play dirty with her.
Blood races south. I swallow another sip of sparkling water. I'll have her later. This is practically an admission of intent.
She wants to play this game. She wants to dare me the way I've dared her.
Which means she wants me to break and beg for her touch.
I won't. But it will be fun watching her try.
"Miss Lee." Ian stands and offers his hand. "Lovely to see you again."
She shakes. "You too." She sets her purse on the table. Turns to me. "Is it the three of us?"
"No." Ian shakes his head. "A colleague is joining us." His eyes go to his designer watch. "He's late, actually." He looks to me. "Aren't you going to help your fiancée into her chair?"
"Thank you, but I can handle it." Jasmine moves around the table, to the seat next to mine—
I stand. Stop her. "No. Allow me." I take her hand. Pull out her chair. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you." Her dark eyes fix on mine. "It was a long day, between the dress, the hair, the makeup." She reaches to her head. Pats her fancy updo. Then the clip. "I'm not sure I'll go through that whole song and dance every time I have dinner. But it was an experience."
"Oh," Ian interrupts. "You don't enjoy pampering?"
"Pampering, yes? Someone tugging my hair—"
"That sounds like a good time," Ian says.
She laughs knowingly, but I can't tell if it's a put on or not. "Yes." She looks to me and raises a brow. "It does."
My balls tighten.
"That is fun. This, not as much. More makeup brushes and hot rollers. I like the end results, but it's a chore getting there. I keep things more practical."
"Impractical is fun sometimes," he says.
Her eyes stay on mine. "Sometimes, yes."
I bring my hand to her waist. Right now, I don't care about Ian. I don't care about convincing Jeff. I don't care about anything but her body against mine.
Which is bad news. The worst news.
I need to stay on task.
I need to win.
My body ignores my protests. Without thinking, I pull her into a tight embrace. Her pelvis against mine, my hands on her hips, her chest raised with inhale.
She looks up at me.
I tear my eyes from her tits. Fuck, I need to push that dress aside. I need to see her, feel her, taste her.
Now.
Her expression gets curious. Unsure. Then she leans into her desire. Or maybe she leans into the fantasy. The pretending.
My eyes close. I pull her into a slow, deep kiss. My lips against hers.
She melts into me, slowly. Her soft lips part for my tongue. She groans against my mouth, inviting me into her body.