Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
“Nesting?” I ask him, pouting when he shifts my legs down so I don’t look like a complete dissection specimen on the table, even though if I was painted green, I could pass for a frog the way my legs are. “Why would you say that?” I add, making him groan before he runs his hands through his hair and holds them over his eyes.
I’ve got my own Lucy theories, but hearing Bowdie say she’s “nesting” makes me wonder how much he knows about his daughter and Josh. Even though he’s quick to shrug and brush it off, it really stands out in my mind for some reason.
The secret my own best friend couldn’t tell me? Maybe, but without meaning to sound like a complete, selfish bitch, right now, who cares? Even that’s not a hundred percent true.
It’s obvious I’ve kinda killed the moment by mentioning her, but Bowdie seems just as aware of our surroundings as I am. Heck, he was even drinking coffee from my dad’s own mug.
What would Dad say if—
Gulp.
What would Dad say if he saw the two of us right now?
“Dad never comes home during the day,” I’m quick to volunteer, not wanting the inevitable to ruin something that’s only just started. “I want this… I want you, Bowdie,” I’m quicker to add, surprising myself with the need inside that has me clutching at him and begging him in my mind not to stop. Not now, not ever.
I feel his huge hands on both my shoulders, easing me back. The sight of his still rock-hard erection only inches from me only makes this worse for me, in a way. I know I have a need, but this man needs that thing drained before it injures him. I’m sure of it.
“Just tell me you want this, Beth,” he says earnestly, thumbing my round, flushed cheek with his thumb, the same thumbprint etched on my clit’s memory for all time. “If I’ve been too forward… If you don’t want…” he says, changing his mind about his choice of words each time until I do the only thing I can think of to stop his talking. I lean up and kiss him again. He grunts and hums low until it becomes a growl of frustration. His half-smile and shaking head tell me he’s not mad. He just wants this to be perfect. I know Bowdie’s a perfectionist. That’s how he built his career.
“I do want this,” I whisper hoarsely, “I want you… I want… I want everything,” I confess, hoping he knows how much I mean it when I run the flat of my palm up and down the front of his jeans, making him groan and then chuckle out loud as I feel all that heat flooding back to my groin.
“You’re not making this easy, Beth,” he cautions me, bringing out the naughty side of me that figures, why not? Why not just have him take me right here, right now?
I told myself he could have me anywhere, anytime, and there’s no time like the present. Despite his own obvious need, I know he wants to show me more than just stars when I close my eyes and feel this giant dick of his erupting inside me. Bowdie’s an older man who probably appreciates the finer points of romance, like dinner and a walk on the beach first. So, I can’t help wondering if he can even wait in his present state of arousal.
I mean, I did take biology, and anyone with an internet connection over eighteen should have a pretty fair idea about how all this stuff works. Still, that doesn’t include this feeling of wanting to be close and just being together. The part of it all that makes the touching and kissing even more special.
I want it all—having someone to spend time with, stare at, or goof around and do nothing with. Bowdie doesn’t have to do anything more than he already is doing to win my heart.
“I just want your first time… our first time to be… special,” he finally rasps, clenching his jaw and almost losing his train of thought as I accidentally discover the tip of his zipper. I work it down slowly, sitting myself up properly on the edge of the table with him in front of me, really wanting to at least take a peek at what all this fuss is about.
“Beth,” he cautions me without trying to stop me. “Are you even… Can you understand what I’m…” he trails off, groaning with resignation mixed with animal lust. He moves his huge hands over mine to help me help him out of that cotton prison that had Dr. Bigg cooped up in for so long, just itching and aching to be free.
It’s a thrill like nothing else, and my heart is like a rabbit’s in my throat. My mouth is dry, and my hands are so shaky I can barely—