Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
A sliver of hope dashes through my middle in the mist of Rose’s fictional chaos.
Maybe Slade and I will never be in love—but maybe, just maybe we could have a smoking hot sex life.
I could settle for that.
Especially if he’s as attentive as he claims to be.
Focusing on the movie, I do my best to pay attention to what’s going on, but my thoughts are all over the place, conjuring up all sorts of naughty scenarios involving the two of us.
But at some point between the start of this movie and now, the space between us on the sofa has narrowed. In fact, we’re so close, I can feel the heat radiating off his body, invading my space along with a hint of his spicy cologne.
It isn’t long before we’re in the throes of another over-the-top sex scene.
I’m not sure if it’s my own sexual repression or a combination of everything, but every atom of my body is electric and I’m pretty sure I’m going to explode if I don’t do something about this soon …
I check the time on my phone—we’re only thirty minutes into this movie with at least another hour to go. A tortuous hour of sitting here daydreaming of Slade’s touch like the curious virgin that I am …
Sitting up, I reach for my Diet Coke and popcorn and try to keep my head on straight. In all the years we’ve known each other, our conversations have never so much as skimmed the surface of this sort of thing.
Rose Byrne takes her date home for a nightcap, which ends up with him ripping her clothes off and taking her on the kitchen island.
She comes not once, but twice—once by his mouth and again by his cock.
He doesn’t say her sister’s name.
He makes her pancakes when it’s over because it’s late, she’s hungry, and all the good restaurants are closed. After that, he stays over and they lie awake talking all night about all the things they have in common—authors they love, places they’ve traveled to.
I blink and it’s the two of us on that screen, lying in bed, laughing, eyes only for each other.
But my silent fantasies of Slade come to a screeching halt when I realize I’m getting ahead of myself.
This is what I get for having too much wine at dinner.
Just because a guy knows his way around a clitoris doesn’t mean he’s going to check all the other boxes too—that sort of thing only happens in the movies.
Slade and I will never be that kind of couple.
As the movie plays on, I find myself stealing more peeks his way, still wondering what our first time will be like. Curiosity has always been my middle name, much to my mother’s dismay. She used to tell me my head was too full of questions and I needed to make room for other things, but I can’t help it.
“Still wondering what our children will look like?” Slade asks when he eventually catches me. His dark gaze holds mine captive.
“No,” I say. “I was looking at your lips this time, wondering what kind of kisser you are.”
He laughs. “Why?”
“Kind of sucks that we have to have our first kiss in front of six hundred people,” I say. “What if it’s bad? What if I turn my head left and you do too? Or what if we bump our teeth together? Or—”
“I can assure you I’m an excellent kisser and you’ll have nothing to worry about,” he says. “Besides, who says you have to wait until our wedding day to find out?”
“What, like we’re going to just kiss before then for the hell of it?” I laugh at his ridiculous notion. “Because we want to? Because we feel like it? Yeah, right.”
He lifts a muscled shoulder and juts his chin forward. “You’re laughing, but I don’t find this funny at all. I’d kiss you right now.”
My stomach drops—again.
The way he says that, so calm and confident, and the determination in his eyes—it’s like he’s hunting me, already knowing he has me caught in his net.
My face flushes and I’m grateful for the dark so he can’t see.
Perhaps I’m imagining it, but the distance between us has narrowed once more.
His fingertips graze the top of my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The realization that this is exactly what my mother probably wanted to happen intrudes on my thoughts and threatens to ruin this moment, but I force it away.
“You’ve always had the prettiest mouth,” he says as he slowly brings his hand to the side of my face. Cupping my chin, he runs the pad of his thumb along my lower lip. This is—quite literally—the most intimate moment we’ve ever shared. “Heart-shaped. Soft. Fuckable.”
His words deepen my blushing cheeks a full three shades, I’m sure of it.