Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
That’s a saying I never thought I’d use, but alas, here we are.
Yes, it’s a real mental image, and yes, it’s a real problem. It starts out with us lying all innocent and proper in bed, spirals into me climbing him like a tree and him doing all the dirty things to me, and ends with me taking his…umm…like finish juices in places I also never thought I’d like them to be. Outside my body, I mean. Jesus. This is only X-rated, not triple X.
I’m sorry that I have a problem with being too honest. I’m sorry that all week, I’ve worked myself raw in the hopes I could be less raw in other spots. I didn’t plant a garden this year because I could not get a tiller from anywhere, and now I realize it was a sad oversight. I didn’t even plant flowers. I was more concerned with existing structures on the property not falling down around me.
All this time, I’ve been saying I don’t have the devil in me, but when Beau’s car pulls up for our second night—which is still entirely inexplicable to me, and it’s maddening that a man like him is never going to surrender his reasoning—I’m kind of extremely pissed off that all week, his cut figure and cold eyes and the way he turned away from me in my bed like I was about as attractive as a week old garbage dumpster have gone un-extricated from my brain.
Still, I greet him with a smile. I’m wearing my prettiest prairie dress with yellow flowers and white lace trim at the neckline and sleeves. It goes all the way to my ankles, and it’s not a shapeless bag since it tucks in very neatly at my waist. I might have sat down and done a little bit of extra work on it yesterday in anticipation of his arrival. I may or may not have taken it in a little at the bust, making it strain uncomfortably across my breasts, I may or may not be wearing a bra because there was no room for one under the tight fabric, and, finally, I may or may not have done a little work on the hips and butt, so it also showcases me there.
I can tell by the way his eyes immediately sweep over me that he notices. However, he does have this charming habit, I notice, of changing his expression to one so unamused and flat that I might as well be a flaming bag of poo freshly dumped on his doorstep.
“Hello, Beau.” I wave him into the house, all eager smiles. “I’ve been thinking about what you asked me last week. Well, I changed my mind about it, mostly because I’m soooo far behind on orders.” I’ve taken the sewing machine out of the main room and set it up at my kitchen table. There are piles of fabric and half-finished dresses all over the place. It’s only four in the afternoon, so there are still lots of hours before bed. “You can watch me sew if you like.”
He enters like he’s walking into a den of starving hippos. Hippos might be cute, but I heard they’re one of the most deadly animals in the world. Have you ever seen videos of them eating pumpkins and just obliterating those things with a single chomp?
He eyes my sewing machine like it might come to life and start committing wild and atrocious acts against humanity, starting with him. Then, his cold eyes sweep to me like I might be plotting something along the same lines, and his left eye twitches. I was right about him not liking clutter. I got the neat freak vibe from him last week.
How is it possible that I forgot how arresting, captivating, and extremely gorgeous this man is? Is he frosty? Sure, but even cold, hard, and dead inside, this man makes my whole body feel very much alive, especially when he slips out of his black suit jacket, flips it over a free chair at the table, and starts rolling up his shirt sleeves.
Yeah, it’s hot in here in the summer, with the only AC being in the bedroom, the tube stuck out a hole in the window screen.
I look at his muscular, sleek, and tanned forearms, noting the smallest scar on one. I know if I ask how it happened, he won’t answer me.
I also know if I look up forearm porn, this right here…this is it to the extreme. My god, do they have to be so lush, tanned, and veiny?
“I’m not interested in watching you sew.” But his eyes rake over the table in a way that says he’s very much interested, so I don’t get it. Unless he’s trying to get unaddicted to his extreme kinks, and this happens to be on the top of the list, then what? He asked for this, and I said no. I shut him down. Why is he returning the favor now?