Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60700 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“Ack! No!” She reaches back to protect herself.
I lean over and kiss one cheek, then the other, then I release her. “Good,” I say. “Because that would tell me you need more.”
She blinks those beautiful baby blues at me. I love the way she trains them on me, completely surrendered, attuned to my mood, my commands. She’s a perfect submissive.
“What do you like for breakfast?” She rolls away and climbs off the bed.
I turn lazily to watch her. “Want to go out for something? What time do you work?”
“Not until eleven. But I want to make you breakfast. What do you eat?”
Aw, damn. She wants to make me breakfast. I can’t stop the broad smile from stretching across my face. As much as I like being in charge, being in control, it’s damn refreshing to be with someone who wants to do something for me, and not just because I told her to.
“Anything you’re making, sugar.”
“You’re easy? No diet restrictions? Anything you hate?”
“Nope. Bring it on. You make it, I’ll eat it.”
She throws on a short robe and bounces off, looking enthusiastic.
I find my way to the shower, still groggy from lack of sleep and the relaxation of good sex just a few hours before. I didn’t arrive until after three a.m., and then we spent another hour making love. Well, maybe love isn’t the right term for what we did. But the after-effects sure as hell feel like love.
I take a long shower. When I get out, I smell bacon and something savory. After dressing, I head into the kitchen. “Whatcha making?” I wrap my arms around her from behind.
“I made a goat cheese, mushroom and asparagus frittata, with bacon on the side.”
“No shit.” I’m impressed. “I didn’t know you cooked.’
She flashes her model-perfect smile, beaming. “I would’ve made you coffee, but I haven’t figured out your fancy espresso machine yet.”
“Aw, sweetheart. You should’ve asked me sooner. I didn’t know you were doing without java.” I show her how to use the thousand dollar DeLonghi espresso machine, making her a latte and two shots of espresso for myself.
“Do you mind if I take the world’s fastest shower before we eat?”
I kiss her forehead. “Make it snappy,” I murmur, only because I love to watch her scramble to please. I could care less if she takes her time and our breakfast gets cold. I’m not much of a breakfast guy, anyway. “I’m timing you!” I call after her back as she dashes toward the master bathroom. I sit to drink my espresso at the glass table situated near the wall-sized windows overlooking the city. She set the table for us like a perfect little 1950’s housewife.
My ex-wife did all these things, too. We started off great, but after the first five years, resentments grew between both of us. They grew and grew until we couldn’t stand each other. She became a ball-buster. I stayed away from the house. We’re much happier divorced. I pay her alimony, and she never complains anymore.
Financial arrangements make everything easier. Clear expectations.
She returns with her thick hair dripping, in a short denim skirt and tight t-shirt.
I glance at my watch and whistle. “Five minutes, three seconds. I think you deserve a reward for that.”
“Oh yeah?” she purrs, coming to stand over me and pressing her cleavage in my face.
I nip at her breast. “And for that outfit…”
She gives a husky laugh and moves away, going to the kitchen to pick up the casserole dish with the frittata and bringing it to the table. “Help yourself. I’ll be right back with the bacon.”
She returns with the bacon and slides into the chair next to me. “This is an incredible view. I really enjoy staying here, Bobby. Thanks.”
“I love having you here, bambina,” I take a bite of the frittata. “Mmm, this is amazing!”
Lexi looks happy. Genuinely happy. I haven’t seen her so relaxed and content before. It makes me want to do everything in my power to keep that smile on her face.
I take a second helping because it’s truly delicious and also because I want her to know how much I appreciate her efforts. When we finish, I help carry the dishes into the kitchen and put them in the dishwasher.
“So, when should we go shopping for your interview clothes? Tonight after you get off?”
She lights up. “Yes! That sounds great!”
I smile. “Okay, I’ll pick you up. And I want to see the portfolio you put together for this job.”
“You do?” She sounds surprised.
“Yeah. Is it here? Bring it to me.”
She gives me a curious look over her shoulder as she retreats to the bedroom. When she returns, she has a sleek black photo album. “This is my look-book, but I submitted a digital slide show with the application.”
I leaf through the pages, admiring each hairstyle. “Who took the photos?”