Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
My man…
The thought, mixed with how damned horny he’s making me, must be showing, and it pleases James.
“A new outfit tonight only means I’d tear it off you,” he says aloud, almost defiantly. I feel a jet of heat flush from my core to the top of my head.
“After dinner, I’ll be picking up right where we left off,” he adds in a husky tone, reading my body as well as my mind.
“If you think you’ll be able to walk straight enough by the time I’m through? Well… see how you feel about going to work in the morning,” he promises me, as if he can see the future and read minds.
Something in me hopes he’s right. Another part of me knows he is, and I feel myself shuddering already, practically scrunching up fistfuls of the tablecloth and grinding my teeth by the time our first course arrives.
James looks happier than ever. I know he’s as hard as I am wet right now, but he seems to like this game of dine-in foreplay, driving me wild just by sitting here looking at me. Anyone else looking can only see a couple at dinner.
I’ve got to say, I don’t mind it either, but I’m already hoping it’s not like a ten-course meal.
“Challenge accepted,” I shiver, composing myself enough to start eating.
I watch James observing me bumble my way through a plate of the most delicious pasta, smiling to himself without even getting a drop of sauce on his chin. I look like a marinara finger painting and knock over the finger bowl, then the whole candle arrangement as I struggle to clean myself up.
James smiles wider, straightening everything and looking hungrier with every mouthful from the seemingly endless plates of food they bring out.
Maybe it feels that way because I think we’re both ready for the bedroom by dessert, but James insists we share the cheesecake, scooping up mouthfuls of it on his fork and feeding it to me. My hands and fingers grip his huge digits, knowing they’re capable of serving me up a hell of a lot more than just dessert.
In hindsight, sweatpants are probably the best thing to wear when dining out with James. I’ve never eaten so much in one sitting, and I see that James would have no problem devouring the same all over again.
He calls for the check, snapping his fingers like a magician and making the whole restaurant turn to see. I’m sure I hear a few of those perfect, stunningly beautiful women sigh, or maybe it’s just my own. I see the men creasing their mouths and looking down. All of them are as much in awe of James as I am.
I watch a few of them as we leave, narrowed eyes over the tops of huge menus, or flat-out stink eye for me being on his arm from the women.
James’s eyes have been glued to me all night, and apart from driving back to his place, they stay on me all the way up to where we left off. Just like he promised, he makes it crystal clear where he wants me from now on. For a little while, at least.
“Here with me… this is where you belong, Jasmine,” he croons. He slowly undresses me at first until even his steel resolve crumples in the face of our need for each other, tearing the clothes off both of us between locking his firm mouth over mine. Those strong, thick hands are ready to spoon me fuller than cheesecake ever could.
I hate to admit it. I can’t believe that’s even true, but it is.
“James…,” I gasp, swooning as he lays me down, ready to claim me all over again.
“I… I love you.”
He growls low, and his lip curls. His grip on me tightens, and I feel his instant reply.
Easing the full length of his stiffness into me in one slow movement, I moan like I never have before and grab hold of his buns of steel so tight it makes him growl deeper.
“I love you, Jasmine,” he reminds me.
He starts moving in and out of me slower, saying something in Italian until I feel my eyes rolling back in my head. He could be reciting the menu for all I know, but who cares?
He’s a man who knows what he wants, but James Jones knows how to care for it once he has it.
You won’t hear this little florist complaining. Not one little bit.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
James
I think it’s safe to say I give Jasmine at least a half dozen reasons why she doesn’t need to go to work, each one of them courtesy of me filling her with my seed. I hear her call my name until she’s purring like a kitten.
Leaving her so satisfied, I’m curious to see if either of us will be walking straight by morning. She’s up and about before dawn, determined to prove her point.