Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Well, that, too,” I say, kissing her as I hand her one of the coffees. “Not as much as I used to, though.”
“Getting old?” she asks, taking a sip of the coffee.
I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her back to my front and nuzzling her neck.
More like getting domesticated.
I don’t say it out loud. It sounds absurd. I’ve known this woman for all of a month, had her in my bed only two consecutive nights.
Which is one night longer than my previous record.
After our Friday date night, she slept over (out of sexual exhaustion, I’d like to think). And as fantastic as Friday night was—and it was fantastic—Saturday was even better. It never occurred to me before that spending an entire day with a woman could be centering, but I can’t remember ever enjoying a weekend day so much.
Or enjoying a woman as much as I enjoy her.
“You mentioned yesterday you had some work to do?”
“Mm. A little,” she says, her head falling back onto my shoulder as my tongue finds a sensitive spot behind her ear.
“I’m behind on e-mail as well. How about we eat whatever you’ve got going on here, take a couple hours for work, then brunch? There’s a place uptown near the park—”
She stiffens slightly and eases away before turning to face me. “Ian, we still can’t be seen together. Not yet.”
I tamp down a surge of frustration, even though I understand. The woman’s already gotten a delay on her dream job. The last thing I want to do is threaten her day job as well.
It just fucking figures that the first time I actually want to spend time with a woman, I feel like her dirty little secret.
But if we’ve got to be dirty . . .
I set aside my coffee, then gently ease hers out of her hands and set that aside, too.
“Hey,” she says in a warning tone. “Taking caffeine out of a woman’s hand is very dangerous business.”
“I’ll give it back. Eventually.” I settle my hands on her waist and hoist her up onto the counter, much as I did that first night.
“Okay, new plan,” I say, nudging her knees apart and stepping between them. “We eat whatever deliciousness you’re cooking up. I’ll go get us some orange juice and champagne for mimosas later—we’ll sip them on my balcony and pretend we’re someplace exotic. But first . . .” I run my palms up her bare thighs. “I’m thinking an appetizer.”
“There’s no such thing as a breakfast appetizer,” Lara says, adjusting her glasses in that way that makes me crazy with lust.
“I beg to differ,” I murmur, capturing her mouth with mine as my hands continue their leisurely stroking over her thighs.
When my fingers find the top of her underwear and hook inside just slightly, Lara pulls back from the kiss with a narrowed gaze. “I don’t mean to be prudish, but one of us just got back from what was probably an obscenely long run; the other is already showered.”
“I don’t need to be clean for what I have in mind,” I say, raining kisses down her neck. I bunch my shirt up around her waist with my fist, then bend and lick just below her belly button.
She gasps, and I do it again.
“In fact,” I murmur, easing the underwear over her hips and all the way down her legs. “One might even say it’s a little bit dirty . . .”
Spreading her legs wide, I lower, hooking my forearms beneath her thighs.
I look up her body. “You may want to get comfortable.”
“Ian—”
I flick my tongue over her.
She lets out a long breath, dropping back onto her elbows.
“You were saying?” I ask with another teasing lick.
This time when she says my name, it’s a plea, not a protest.
I take my time with her, tasting her with languid strokes of my tongue. Having spent most of yesterday getting her naked and keeping her that way, I’ve learned she likes it slow and gentle right until the very end. I do exactly that, soft licks over her most sensitive areas as she writhes beneath me.
Her hand comes down to mine, and I link my fingers with hers with my right hand, my left hand spread low across her stomach to hold her still. It’s intimate in a way I’m not used to. I don’t often have women in my kitchen, and I certainly don’t eat them out.
But it’s more than the location and what I’m doing. It’s the way I am with her, the way she is with me. As though we’re just getting started, and the best is yet to come.
Her hips tilt up, her thighs tightening around my shoulders, and I know she’s close.
I’m tempted to make it last, wanting to prolong every moment with her indefinitely, but her nails find my head, digging in in a way that tells me she needs release now.