Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
I take his extended hand and together, we leave Chris bent over on the sidewalk, groaning in pain.
When we turn the corner, Sean tugs me to a stop, crowding me with worry in his eyes.
“Christ. Savannah, are you okay? I’m so sorry I wasn’t there sooner. Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him, I swear to god—”
“I’m alright,” I say quickly, leaning into his touch as he cups my face, thumb stroking my cheek. It’s an innocent touch, but it sends sparks spiraling through me regardless. “He only grabbed my wrist. He didn’t hurt me really. He just…” I bite my bottom lip, a sudden rush of sadness rising.
“Are you upset? Did you not want me to hurt him?”
I am upset, but not because Sean beat him up. I’m decidedly not upset about that. At all.
“No, I’m…I kind of liked the way you defended me,” I admit, swallowing. “He just scared me a little. I didn’t think he was like that. Thank you for…what you did.”
He leans down, planting a soft kiss on my forehead that makes me smile.
“I don’t want to think about him anymore,” I decide, stepping away so I can look Sean in the eye. “Take me to your place like you promised?”
“Anything you want, sweetness.”
10
SAVANNAH
“Oh my god, your apartment…” I gasp as we step inside and get my first look at where Sean lives.
“Is that a good gasp or a bad gasp?” Sean chuckles, his hand on the small of my back as he encourages me to walk forward. “Have a look around while I get dinner started.”
I nod dumbly, still in shock. I know Sean’s rich, he’s my boss for God’s sake, but this is on a whole other level. My little apartment must look like a cupboard to him. His whole space is bright and open, with an open-concept living room and kitchen area that makes the floor space look even bigger.
A huge TV takes up one wall, with a black leather sofa and a plush armchair facing it. A fluffy white rug covers the floorboards, making it feel more homey. The kitchen is stunning, with white marble surfaces and shiny silver handles. It smells like Sean’s cologne in here, and I inhale greedily.
He told me to explore, but my feet take me straight to where he stands in the kitchen, already chopping up ingredients. I don’t want him out of my sight.
“I can help—”
“Let me spoil you the way you deserve, ” he says with a slow smile. “Next time, I’ll take you out to my favorite restaurant and buy you one of everything to try, but tonight, I want you all to myself.”
I shudder, licking my lips. “This is crazy.”
He shrugs, putting down the knife and grabbing two wine glasses and a chilled bottle of expensive-looking white wine. “Sit,” he instructs, and I obey mindlessly, perching on the bar stool and accepting the glass of wine. “Dinner won’t be long.”
“And then…what happens?” I can’t help but ask, swallowing a mouthful of sweet wine. I make a surprised happy noise at the taste.
“Like it?” he asks, grinning. I nod. “I need to brush up on my cocktail-making skills, but I remember how much you like sweet drinks.”
I flush, ducking my head. “I’m still sorry about your shirt.”
“I’m not,” he answers easily. “It’s my prized possession now. But to answer your first question, what happens after is up to you.”
“I…” I want him. I want more of what happened in the kitchen. I want to please him in return even if I have no idea how. What if I’m bad at it?
“What I want is to have you spread out on my bed,” he says, sensing my hesitation. “I want to feel that pretty pussy around my cock. I want to make you scream my name, Savannah.”
Oh god. I clench my thighs together, nodding eagerly.
“But I’m not a total heathen,” he adds. “You need energy for that, so drink your wine and stop distracting me.”
I laugh, but I do as he says, watching him eagerly as he prepares a quick pasta for us. Watching Sean cook—the veins in his hands as he chops, the muscles in his back as he turns and sets the pans on the stovetop, the hint of his chest when he unbuttons the top two buttons on his shirt—is better than any movie.
I’m ready to skip dinner and let him do whatever he wants to me by the time he serves me a big bowl of delicious-smelling pasta. But he’s right, I do need to eat first, and when he sits across from me, I’m hit with a storm of butterflies in my stomach.
It feels so…domestic, eating dinner together in his kitchen. I feel comfortable here with him, not as out of place as I probably should feel in a place as nice as this.