Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
It feels fucking good to let go and laugh like this.
My buzz is fading, but I don’t stop dancing. I bend my elbows and circle my forearms in time to the beat. Maren shouts “Ooooh, I like that one!” and leaps to my side. She does it too, our eyes meeting in the mirror as we pretend to drive our Cadillacs together.
Christ, the way this girl moves. The smile on her face. Her confidence.
My blood fucking crackles inside my skin.
“You really can dance.”
I nudge her with my hip. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“What else can you do that I don’t know about?”
Make you come so hard you forget your name, for starters.
Another song comes on. She dances a circle around me so that she’s standing between me and the mirror, facing away from me so she can watch us. She dips left. Waits, bouncing on her knees.
I dip right. A huge smile breaks out on her face. “Aw, yeah, you got this.”
“Of course I got it. Try to keep up, Tiny.”
She laughs. “Tiny. I like that.”
We weave in and out like that for a whole chorus. Maren really gets into it, sinking lower with each dip, and I play along. Try to, anyway. It’s murder on my old-man knees. The Navy was not easy on them.
It’s murder not putting my hands on her hips and pulling her to me. I’d melt my groin into her ass. Grind into her. The friction would feel so fucking good.
The chorus ends and Maren spins around to face me. My heart takes a swan dive. Too close.
Not close enough.
She shimmies her shoulders, arms out. I do too. She bends back. I bend forward. This time we immediately find our groove. Laughter bubbles at the back of my throat as she bends farther and farther back and forward, her athleticism—her strength—on full display.
This girl would be an animal in bed. No question.
During the next song—it’s Britney, bitch—Maren leans so far back, I think she’s going into a full backbend. But then she must lose her footing, because next thing I know she’s flailing, grabbing onto my shirt. I lurch forward and curl an arm around her waist, snatching her just before she hits the floor.
My body ignites with the realization that I’m holding her tightly against me. Her body flush against mine. Eyes lit up with surprise and . . . something else.
Something I feel everywhere.
Putting a hand on my shoulder, her tits rise on an inhale. I can feel the press of the hardened points of her nipples through my shirt.
“Holy shit, Superman, you move fast.”
I am coming out of my fucking skin. “I have a nickname now too?”
“If you like it, sure.”
Our eyes lock. Slowly, slowly, I straighten, bringing her with me.
I wait for her hand to drop from my shoulder. It doesn’t.
I wait for my arm to drop from around her waist. It doesn’t.
The song ends. Something else comes on—I can feel the bass vibrate in my breastbone—but I couldn’t tell you what it was.
I’m too lost in the feel of Maren pressed against me. My hips melt into hers. Stop. Right now.
Stop.
Her eyes move to my mouth. I’m suddenly aware of my lips. How they’d very much like to be on hers.
Here it is again. That easy, almost automatic communication that happens between us. Words not necessary. Just shared hunger, the kind that eats you alive.
The same hunger that led me down a path of destruction when I was young and stupid.
“You all right?” I manage.
She’s still breathless when she replies, “All good.”
I gently pull my arm away and step back. My body screams at the loss of her warmth.
Maren blinks, the disappointment written clearly on her face.
I know, and I’m sorry.
I turn around and grab my jacket off the weight bench. “Been a long day. I’m going to bed. Thanks for the, uh, lesson.”
“Anytime.”
“Don’t stay up too late.”
“I’m going to head upstairs right now.”
I hold up a couple fingers. “Night.”
“Goodnight, Superman.”
My heart pings around inside my chest like a pinball as I march dutifully to my house. Every step feels like I’m moving through quicksand. Like the universe is telling me I’m making the wrong move.
But the wrong move is tearing off my nanny’s clothes.
It’s hooking up with the woman my daughter is falling in love with.
Why, then, am I having such a hard time doing the right thing?
The house is empty. Quiet. I hate it.
I’ve been alone for a long, long time. I don’t get why that fact bothers me so damn much right now. Usually I like sleeping alone. I like not having to deal with someone else’s bullshit.
But now, tonight, I can’t stand the thought of that empty space in my bed.
Just once, a voice whispers inside my head.
What if Maren and I gave in just once? One night to get the wild out? Maybe then I’ll stop feeling like I’m coming out of my skin.