Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Ethan is in the car, and I shove at the door before it closes and step inside, in front of him. “What unfinished business?” I demand, and before I get the words out, he’s caught my hip, pulled me against his perfectly hard body, and cupped my face.
I’m panting when he says, “This,” a moment before his amazing mouth closes over mine.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The elevator dings with our arrival to Ethan’s floor, and he tears his mouth from mine, leaving me panting, and my knees weak. “I didn’t bring you here to fuck you and then fuck you over. That’s not what this is. You understand that, right?”
“I do after tonight or I wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Good, but that said, sweetheart, if you come with me to my room, you’ll be naked before we get past the door. You understand that, too, right?”
My cheeks heat with his boldness, and so does my body.
“I’m well versed on what happens when I go to your hotel room,” I dare, because he makes me daring, and I can feel a part of me that has come alive with him, and that reaches well beyond naked in a hotel room. It’s why I dared to present the Zoey brand. It’s why I dared to come to New York. It’s why I know I’m going to accept the offer to go to Paris. “Why are we still in the elevator?”
He rotates me into the corner and releases me, his hands on either side of me. “Fuck,” he groans, his chin lowering to his chest, his gaze lifting to mine, torment in the depths. “This is a mistake.”
I pant out a shocked breath. “What?” Embarrassment floods me, and only then do I realize that the elevator is sitting still. We aren’t moving, but I should be. “This can’t be happening.” I try to duck under his arm.
He captures my waist, branding me, the heat in his eyes scorching me. “Stop,” I say, and when I intend to push him away, my hands end up covering his hands. “I don’t like games, and if you dare tell me I’m the one playing games over my name thing—”
He kisses me again, and I’m talking kisses me until I’ve forgotten my own name, let alone what just happened. “No games,” he murmurs, his hand sliding over my hip.
Somehow, my brain cells are reactivated, and I’m aware of just how contradictory those words are to his actions. “I think you like games,” I dare.
His eyes glint, his mood darker and harder now as he says, “And I don’t think you know what’s good for you because it’s not me, and yet, you’re still standing here.”
“Apparently, I don’t,” I whisper, “because I’m still in an elevator and I’m not running away. And I don’t know why. You’re too hot and too cold. I’m getting whiplash.”
He studies me for what feels like an eternal moment before he captures my hand and leads me toward the exit, where he punches an elevator button and the doors open. We cut right, and he doesn’t let go of me, almost as if he thinks I might process all the warning bells he should be setting off and leave. But I can’t think of anything but his hand on my hand and how long the hallway stretches.
Finally, we’re at the end of the walk, at his door, and he slides a keycard over the sensor. A moment later, we’re inside, and the door is sealed and locked. The next, I’m against it, him in front of me, one hand planted next to my head, neither touching me.
He stares down at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, the pulse of his hunger, and mine, between us, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t touch me, and I’m melting with how much I need his hands on my body. I’m wet, my thighs slick, my nipples painfully aware that his mouth is nowhere near offering me satisfaction. “Ethan,” I plead, and perhaps still drunk on vodka or maybe just drunk on him, I’m beyond shyness at this point.
I push off the door and catch his tie, just his tie, and I consider that remarkable restraint considering I want his hands and mouth all over me. “What are we doing?”
“You really don’t know what’s good for you,” he murmurs again, but this time, his hand is cupping my head and he’s kissing me, and it’s like a band of tension between us pops.
Suddenly, we’re all over each other—kissing each other, touching each other. I end up against the door all over again, his hands tugging at the bodice of my top, shoving it and my bra down to expose my breasts, his fingers plucking at my nipples. I barely recognize the sounds coming from my mouth. I’m that lost in the flood of sensations overtaking me.