Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“Well?” he asked, his breath stirring her hair.
“I like it,” she whispered, inhaling again.
A satisfied sound turned over in his chest. “I know something else you like, Josephine.”
His gravelly tone made her shiver hotly. “What is it?”
Slowly and deliberately, he picked up the remote control on the arm of the couch and hit rewind, returning to the start of the movie’s love scene. And then he hit play.
Josephine swallowed hard, trying not to be obvious about sneaking her knees closer together. Had he noticed she was paying a little too close attention to the scene earlier?
It started from the beginning, moans and drumbeats filling the living space.
Wells rested his mouth against her temple. “How hard he’s fucking her. You like that, don’t you?”
Arousal snaked through Josephine, starting at the buds of her breasts. They pebbled and grew sensitive inside the white terry cloth. And then lower, her stomach muscles knitting together one by one and drawing taut like shoelaces. She ordered herself to slow down her breathing and act normal, but Wells shifted in this sensual animal way beneath her, his right hand tilting her chin, his lips ghosting up the side of her neck—and the breathy sound she made in response to that featherlight touch more than answered his question.
He wasn’t done asking questions, though.
“Did you pack your vibrator, belle?”
If he’d asked her that in broad daylight, she wouldn’t have answered. Or she would have asked him if he’d packed his sense of privacy. But in the intimate darkness of the suite—with shadows playing on the wall and her backside planted in his lap—nothing seemed off limits.
“No,” she whispered. “I didn’t think it would be . . . necessary.”
“Didn’t expect me to send you pictures of my juicy ass, did you?”
Her laugh sounded more like a gasp. He knew exactly what she’d been doing when he arrived, the big jerk. Why was it so attractive that he’d said nothing until now? “Shut up.”
The knuckles brushing her jaw firmed and there was no mistaking the hunger bracketing his mouth, his eyes. “Make me, belle.”
A moan issued from the television. Maybe. It could have been inside her head or out loud, too, because God, she wanted to be kissed. Hard. Messy. Frantic. She was a bundle of concentrated nerves that were asking for appeasement. Friction. The touch of another person. And not just any person. Wells. “Just so we’re clear, you want me to . . .”
“Make the first move and I’ll take over.” Their mouths were touching now, lips damp from their mutual heavy breathing. “Or tell me to leave. And I will. But I need you to know there’s no pressure, Josephine. You kick me out and you’re still my caddie tomorrow and nothing changes. Not a damn thing. Understand?”
Had Josephine ever met someone who made her feel such a variety of emotions? Frustration, gratitude, belonging, anger . . . lust. “I understand,” she said, sighing when his thumb traced the hollow of her throat, those glittering eyes studying her mouth like he was forming a strategy. “What happens after you take over?”
His chest vibrated, his mouth traveling along her cheek to rest against her ear. “After we’re done kissing, you mean? Don’t you dare skip past that. Finally going to get that taste I’ve been dreaming about.”
“You’ve been wanting to kiss me? You’re not even nice to me.”
“You say that with a straight face from inside the presidential suite, belle?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I already called ahead to the next place to make sure your room has the biggest bathtub—”
She kissed him.
A firm acquainting of lips that turned into three, four, smaller kisses. Like sampling each other and loving every taste even more than the last. Was that her imagination or could she hear his heart booming? Leaning into the kiss, she flattened her left palm on his chest and found the racing organ beating triple time and that turned her on more than anything. Proof that beneath his often jerk-like exterior was vulnerability. Need that matched hers.
They were kissing. Making out.
She was making out with Wells Whitaker.
Her boss.
But he wasn’t really any of those things to her now. Not after getting to know him better. Now he was just Wells, her infuriating teammate who was also thoughtful and jaded and protective and hot-tempered and sexy. And he kissed like he wouldn’t mind either of them running out of oxygen. He kissed her like she was a meal and he wanted to memorize every single flavor on his palate.
“I take over now, Josephine,” he rasped, kissing her thoroughly. “You want it like that?”
Her answer was fervent and clear. “Yes.”
“Good girl.” He trapped Josephine’s waist in his hands and turned her in his lap to face the television, which she could barely see now that she’d entered some sort of lust fog. “Lean back against me. I’m going to open this robe like a fucking Christmas present.”