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)
“What do you think?” As she crosses the room, the sinuous flow of the fabric parts like a wave, exposing her leg almost to the top of her toned thigh.
“I think . . . I’m lost for words.” And sporting a semi at the sight of her, at the heady perfume she’s wearing as she comes to a stop in front of me.
“Honestly, I feel like a Bond girl.” Her pleasure is a sudden, shy smile, and I note how her fingers toy nervously with a tiny silver purse. “You look like a Bond villain,” she adds, taking the glass from my hand. Her eyes hold mine over the rim as she sips.
“Would that be the one with the pussy or the one with the unfortunate teeth?”
“The one that looks like Henry Cavill.” Reaching out, she runs her thumb over my satin lapel. “You scrub up good.”
My evening suit is single breasted and shawl collared and fits like a glove. I can’t think of my own clothing when all I want to do is slide my thumbs under those shoestring straps at her shoulders. Would her dress snag at her hips or flutter freely to the floor? Now is not the time to find out. Unless I want a punch in the balls.
“I try,” I say, taking my glass back. I set it down and offer her my arm. “Shall we get that drink?”
The hotel bar is busy this evening as we enter. I could procure a table (I do own the place, after all) but it’s best we aren’t tempted to stay long.
Tempted. What a joke. In that dress, Eve is the personification of enticement. Desire is the serpent in the garden, and Eve is the forbidden apple dangling from the tree. Sweet and ripe for the plucking. But only if I have no regard for my testicles.
My hand slips from her back as she turns, bare but for two thin straps crossing at her spine. “What are you having?”
You under me, your breath in my ear as your body yields to mine. “The usual. And you?”
Her lips twist briefly. “Something to take the edge off. A margarita, maybe?”
“You’re nervous?”
Her lips twist. “Whatever makes you think that?”
“There’s nothing to be worried about.” I have every faith she’s up to the task.
“Meeting a man I don’t know to do what, I’m not sure. No biggie, right? But—” She halts and frowns, as though she didn’t mean to say that.
“What is it?”
“Well, this dress is gorgeous, but I feel kind of exposed.” She pulls her purse to her front, holding it with both hands.
I give a quick and very thorough once-over. “You’re not, thankfully. There are too many men in this bar to fight.”
A tiny smile catches at the corner of her mouth, but she turns her head to hide it. “Fight them for my honor? Remember, you’re not the hero type.”
I’m prevented from answering, thanks to the barman’s appearance. I place our order, and Eve declines a seat, watching as my employee prepares her drink.
“I feel like we should’ve talked more about this,” she says absently, pressing her chin to her fist as she watches the barman salt her glass. “Maybe filled out one of those online questionnaires or something?”
Turning to face her, I rest my elbow on the polished bar top and my left foot on the brass footrail. “I don’t quite follow.”
“I barely know anything about you.” She spares me a glance. “What if people start asking me questions? About you? About us?”
“There are very few people who truly know me, so your answers won’t matter. You can say what you like. Besides, they’re not going to be asking questions about me.” My eyes slide over the smooth skin of her shoulder and down her back, my cock pulsating as I take in the luscious swell of her arse.
“Stop staring at my butt.”
I look up to find her watching me in the smoky glass behind the bar. “It’s what lovers do. Watch. Touch. Kiss when they think no one is watching. Sometimes, even when they know they are, just because they can’t help themselves.”
“You aren’t the PDA type.”
“You know that’s not true.” Leaning forward, I press my lips to her shoulder. “I absolutely can be inspired to public displays.”
“Smooth,” she says, her tone indifferent as she turns her face away. It doesn’t hide the flush to her cheeks. “But if my answers won’t matter, then I’ve decided you aren’t the demonstrative type. At least for the purposes of tonight.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Maybe you’re even born again. You’re very respectful, and you keep your hands to yourself. You don’t even believe in sex before marriage.”
“I can’t imagine what kind of people you think you’ll be speaking to tonight, but I suggest you don’t say anything like that in earshot of my friends.”