Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Again, there’s nothing helpless about you.” My words don’t sound very complimentary. “With my help, the outcome would be guaranteed.”
Eve opens her mouth, but her response is overcome by chattering teeth. She clamps her jaw together forcefully.
“Serves you right for not getting in the car.”
“Who died and made you king?”
“I’d gladly offer you my crown and my scepter, my rod and my staff, but something tells me you’re not in the mood.”
Nothing.
I sigh. “Life would be much easier if people listened to instructions.” And poorer, too, considering how lovely angry looks on her.
She sniffs, and as she turns, I realize she’s soaked through.
“Stop.” I tighten my fingers on her arm. “Hold this.” Thrusting the handle of the umbrella into her hand, I quickly tug on the zip of the oversize hoodie she’s wearing.
“Hey! Stop that!”
I have it open and one arm free before she can complain with any great effect. Spinning her in the other direction means she almost takes out my eye with the umbrella spokes. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to get you naked,” I mutter, jerking back.
“I got that memo, thanks.”
“Not in the street, at least.” The sweatshirt dangles from one wrist, and the expression she’s wearing? We’ll call it how rude! But not for long as I strip off my jacket, and her eyes slide hungrily down my chest. They linger in the vicinity of my belt, when she rolls in her bottom lip, rendering it pink and shiny. Bloody hell. If she doesn’t stop looking at me like that, my rod and crown will announce themselves.
“Why do you keep tormenting me?” she whispers.
“Because you think I’m pretty,” I murmur, reaching out to tidy a lock of her rain-frizzed hair, “and I’m nothing if not persistent.”
Her brows knit. “I didn’t say you were pretty.”
“Yes, you did.” I relieve her of the umbrella and lean the handle across my shoulder. I shake out my jacket from the collar, ready for her to slip it on. “On Saturday afternoon you said my lashes were pretty.”
“I was in a state of shock,” she mutters as she turns away. She slides in one arm, then the other. Then her breath hitches as, from behind, I drop my mouth to her ear.
“And on Saturday evening,” I whisper as softly as a curl of smoke, “you said my cock was the prettiest you’ve ever seen.”
“I did—I don’t remember.”
“Liar.” I bite back my enjoyment as she spins and snatches the wet hoodie from my hand. I lift the umbrella, and resuming our positions, we begin to walk again. “Compliments are always welcome.”
“I’m sure you get so many.” Her tone is the verbal equivalent of side-eye as she swishes the hoodie back and forth by her thigh.
“Are you surprised?”
“Such modesty.” She snorts.
“‘You’re so thick. So hard. I want you inside me,’” I utter perfectly pleasantly—as though commenting on the weather.
“Oh my God,” Eve splutters, glancing up at me as though I’ve grown another head.
“Those are the usual. ‘Your cock feels so good’ is also nice. ‘I feel so full, you’re going to split me in two’ is also special to hear.”
“Stop! I get the picture.”
“But ‘Oh, God, your pretty cock. Please, please, I need it inside me’ took things to a wonderful new level.”
“I did not beg.”
“You looked so beautiful, breathless and slightly desperate.” I don’t think I meant to sound so wistful.
“Please stop.”
“That you never said. Your compliments are my new favorite. My current go-to.”
“Go-to?” Her attention slices my way, a tiny throb of connection joining us for a beat. Her body perceives my meaning, her brain catching up a moment later when she glances away. “This is so inappropriate.”
My feet slow to a stop. “I can thank you for your compliments, but I can’t tell you how I enjoy them?”
“No, you cannot.”
“You’re saying masturbation isn’t a general topic of conversation. We should change that. Have dinner with me.”
“So we can talk about you jacking off?” she splutters.
“If you prefer, I could demonstrate?”
“Do you have a split personality? Because I am seriously beginning to doubt which is the authentic version.”
“Every version of me wants you.”
“Wants something from me, more like.” Tugging gently on my arm, she steers us around a corner. At least she’s not running away.
“I want your help, and I want you in my bed.” And you have no idea the lengths I’ll go to.
“Stop saying that.”
She turns to the pressure on her arm.
“All right.” Taking her hand, I press it to my chest. The air around us is flat and damp, but the space between seems to pulse with anticipation. I angle my head, and her lashes flutter, her cool lips yielding to mine, accepting the brush of my tongue. Rain begins to hammer against the umbrella as her fingers tighten on my biceps, everything around us forgotten. Our surroundings, her resistance, our cross-purposes, all gone. My palm glides over the curve of her hip, taking hold of the heavenly roundness of her arse. I press her to me, soft to hard, her moan so sweet I could bottle it.