Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
He sits down behind the desk and pulls out the box from Oblivion Café. He opens it, grinning like it’s the gold, glowing light inside the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. I swear he’s hearing angels sing. “Enjoy,” I say, not sure he’ll register that I’ve spoken now that he’s in a cinnamon roll coma.
Forget sex toys, just feed this man cinnamon rolls.
I’m almost past him when Jim calls out, “Hey, Samantha!” I pause, glancing back questioningly. “Thanks so much, honey. These things give an old man a good reason to get outta bed in the mornin’. But I cain’t go in that café with all that racket.” He sticks his pinkie in his ear and wiggles it roughly. “And that fella in there sets off my internal metal detectors just with what’s in his face.”
I laugh. “Happy to get you a snack because then it means I get one too.”
I didn’t get a roll this morning, but my iced coffee has enough cinnamon and caramel syrup in it to count as a dessert. The hope is that the caffeine and sugar will get me through today’s class topic because it’s gonna be a bitch and I’m already exhausted just thinking about it.
In the meeting room, I find Chance leaning on a table, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, looking casually sexy without even trying. He’s staring at his phone with his concentration face on, his brows knit together, his jaw set, and his thumb flicking over the screen as he scrolls. His gray suit is cut to perfection, and the green tie gives him a look of freshness rather the stuffiness he fights against.
“Mr. Harrington,” I say formally as if we didn’t have phone sex less than twelve hours ago. He’s the reason I need the liquid pick-me-up because we stayed up afterward, talking until we were both falling asleep.
His head jerks up, and his entire demeanor changes, relaxing as he smiles the charming grin that drives me crazy. “Miss Redding, I was hoping to see you before class.”
This is the dance we do here at the club, walking the line of professional and flirty. I never thought the dichotomy between how we act at a place where we have expectations to fulfill and how we act behind closed doors would be so sexy, but it is. It’s almost like role playing all day with him as the good guy boss, me as the naughty but nice teacher, and then later, we’re our true selves, only more intense, recklessly enjoying each other with abandon.
“Were you wanting to join today?” I ask, setting my laptop up and syncing to the screen.
I’ve rearranged the room from the rows of chairs into a large circle so it’s more welcoming and less structured, but the slides are a good way to keep classes focused so I get through the whole lesson in the time allotted.
“I wish,” he says, one brow quirked in a not-so-professional way as his eyes scan me from head to toe, not missing a detail, “but we have a podcast to record today. I was looking over Evan’s notes.” He holds his phone up before dropping it into his pocket. “I did notice the topic of today’s class . . .”
He trails off, so I fill in for him, “Sex appeal and desirability. Don’t worry, it’s not about big dicks. Or at least not all about them.”
His jaw drops open. I swear he’s still shocked every time I talk about sex in normal conversation like it’s a no-big-deal part of life. Later, he’ll tell me to swallow his cock like a good slut and talk about how good he wants to make my pussy feel, but saying the word ‘dick’ aloud in public? Totally taboo!
I laugh and push his mouth closed, lifting his dropped chin with one finger. “It’s about what’s deemed sexy and how it changes through time and can be different for each person. I’m expecting it to be a button-pushing one. The time-tested question . . . which is better, tits or ass?” I hold my hands out, balance testing the options thoughtfully.
His phone makes a noise in his pocket and he inhales heavily. “I’ve got to run. Evan wants to test the new set-up in the recording room.”
It feels odd to simply walk away from each other. No kiss, no hug, no touching. Chance walks past me toward the door, but pauses. “Talk to you later.”
I grin evilly, knowing exactly what I’m doing when I say, “Yes sir, Mr. Harrington.”
He groans deep and quiet in his chest. “You’re killing me.”
“You like it,” I tease, winking at him salaciously.
He shoots me a stormy look, vowing that I’m going to pay for that before walking out to do the podcast.
Though he might have to make a stop in his office to handle things first, I think with a self-satisfied smirk.