Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Uh, speaking for the guy who doesn’t want to dip his entire body in Bengay right about now.”
He nuzzles his nose into my neck, his soft lips playing along my skin. “Who says I’m not sore?”
“Me, I do. You’re not the one taking the brunt of your hips.” I turn my head and look him in the eyes. “Not to boost your already inflated ego, but you have some powerful thrusts, my friend, and when you have me contorted, driving in me like that, yeah, girl’s going to be sore.”
“Powerful thrusts, huh?” His smile stretches across his handsome face, and even though I want to roll my eyes at how happy he is, I can’t. Because he’s happy. I make him happy, and that right there is everything.
“Don’t get too cocky, all right? There are things you could improve on.”
I hide my smirk.
Clearing his throat, completely stunned, he twists me in his arms and says, “Excuse me? What do you mean I have things I could improve on? From the sounds coming out of your mouth when I’m buried deep inside of you, it doesn’t seem like I have anything to improve on.”
Casually I shrug. “You know, foreplay might be lacking.”
“What?” He nearly jumps out of his seat, pushing me to the side so he can really look me in the eyes. “You’re complaining about foreplay?”
Bringing my hand to my face, I examine my nails and nonchalantly say, “It’s okay, Rome, some people show weakness in bed.” I pat his leg. “I think you just need to realize that foreplay isn’t office talk. I don’t get turned on talking about emails and highlighters like you do.”
He studies me, his eyes boring into my soul, looking for any sort of falter in my demeanor, and when he clears his throat, I can’t hide it anymore. A smile peeks out.
His eyes widen—disbelief etched in them—and he takes the pillow from behind him and tosses it at me as he roars out of his seat. “Oh, you’re in fucking trouble, babe.” He’s rounding the couch and pointing at me. “So much trouble.”
I chuck the pillow back at him that he easily dodges by swatting it away. “What kind of trouble?”
Energized, looking sexy as hell as he bounces on his feet, the muscles in his chest flexing, rippling. “The worst kind of trouble.”
Loving this super playful side of him, I sit on my knees and say, “Ooo, what kind of trouble?”
“Not the kind of trouble you’re hoping for.”
My face falls. “So, not like the kind of trouble where you punish me with your penis?”
Lips sealed shut, he shakes his head, no. “Nope. This is the kind where you don’t get any penis.”
“Ha!” I laugh. “I would love for you to try to punish me that way, Mr. Morning Erection.”
“Watch. You’ll be begging for my ‘horrible’ foreplay.” He uses air quotes, his smile so brilliant.
“I never said horrible.”
Picking up another throw pillow from a chair close to him, he tosses it at me. “Might as well have.”
* * *
For the record, when Rome sets his mind to something, he means it. I should have known this given his work ethic.
But clearly, I forgot who I was dealing with.
We haven’t had sex in a week. A freaking week.
I’m about to lose my mind from the built-up sexual tension inside me. We’re still sleeping in the same bed, trading on and off at each other’s places. It’s killing me.
Try sleeping next to Mr. I Sleep Naked, when all you want is his mouth on your body, his hands on your breasts, and his dick inside you, pumping like a crazed sailor on leave.
He’s holding out on me, and it almost seems like it’s not affecting him one bit. If I knew he wasn’t one hundred percent committed to me, I would think he’s getting some side action.
His hand must be really good at getting the job done.
Mine, not so much. It’s nothing like the real deal that is Rome. He commands my body, makes me feel things I’ve never felt before and after, when he’s cuddling me, nuzzling his nose into my hair, it’s pure bliss.
I miss it.
And being in this meeting right now where I have to act professionally is slowly eating me alive, especially when he keeps lifting his eyes to look down my blouse that I might have popped open the top few buttons just for him.
“And everything is in line in production, ready to roll out?” Rome asks, flipping his pen between his fingers. He’s sitting at the head of the conference table like he always does, wearing a navy-blue button-up shirt and light gray slacks. I watched him get dressed this morning and couldn’t help but gawk at how tight-fitting his pants are.
“Yes, Mr. Blackburn,” some guy says to the right of me. I can’t remember his name to save my life right now, not when Rome is slowly chewing on the corner of his lip.