Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“It’s gone eight—I mean, two. You should get some sleep.”
“I will,” I say as I stand and tug back the sheet before drawing it over her knees. “AirDrop me the details. I’ll go make a call. You know, it’s been at least twelve hours since I pissed someone off at work.”
I pull the mosquito net closed and swagger out of the room, against every physical instinct I have. Her red eyes, her flushed cheeks, the hair I want to smooth and pet. Her sleep-creased pajamas and the heat of her body as it touched mine. Touch, sight, smell, taste—all those senses want to stay.
My brain, though—my heart—they know I need to play a longer game.
Chapter 16
Mila
“You’re a good dancer.”
Dancing. That perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire, so obvious in the hypnotic sway of our hips.
“You know what they say about good dancers.” My husband presses his answer into the soft skin below my ear, the sound waves causing a ripple of Yes please through me.
“No, but you can tell me.” My answer sounds thick with suggestion.
“They practice.” His voice is deep, his intent clear as he takes my hand, twirling me before him. My dress flares outward from my knees, the long train held like a bracelet to my wrist. I’m dressed like a princess, held in my prince’s arms as he pulls me back, our bodies flush.
I remember now. It’s my wedding day. My Prince Charming is a husband.
“Practice,” I whisper, smiling secretly. “I see.”
“Now feel.”
Oh, I do. The hard press of his body and our hips swaying in time to the music.
“Dancers are also flexible.” I give a small sigh as his lips caress the sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder meet. “They have exceptional stamina.”
“Lucky them.”
He makes a husky sound of agreement. “But it’s a double-edged sword, because they’ll work their partner so hard. Get them so . . . hot.” His words are a heated burst in my ear that is somehow connected to my core.
“Sounds terrible,” I answer as we move, oblivious to everything around us.
“A good dancer starts slow, finds his partner’s rhythm. He discovers what you like, and the more time you spend dancing together, the more proficient you’ll become.”
I suck in a sharp breath, his whisper like a sensory trip wire as my body floods with a liquid heat. I know he senses my reaction as his arm tightens around my middle, his body so hot and so ready.
We’re going to have sex.
“Yes, yes we are.”
I smile to myself. I’m almost giddy with want.
But then the landscape around us changes, and it’s suddenly dark. Or almost dark, as my eyes adjust to the lack of light. The noise of the door closing registers distantly in my brain, the sound of Fin’s breath and his footsteps a little more so.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he purrs in a change of tone.
I chuckle, the sound low and sort of sexual as his hands capture my hips.
“Yes, fancy,” I whisper as he moves me backward and my bare shoulders meet a cool wall. Yes, please. Yes, more of that. My insides heat with longing, my silly gel nails catching his shirt as I reach for him, every inch of my skin alive and wanting.
Fin palms my breast, almost as though to hold me in place.
I arch, silently begging him with my body as I whisper breathless-sounding encouragements. “God, I want you. I’ve thought about you so, so much.”
“Tell me.”
“Like this. I imagined you just like this. The room dark, you on your knees, getting me off.”
“Just like old times,” he murmurs. “Did you touch yourself while you thought of me? Did you make yourself come for me, Mila?”
I reach for his neck, seeking to pull his mouth closer to mine. “Always.”
“You’re such a good girl.” His words—his praise—light me up inside. His words dance across my lips. We’re not quite kissing; more like sharing air. “Do you know I have a thing for good girls?”
I hear the smile in his words as my hand glides down his chest, and over the demarcation of his leather belt. “I wonder what that thing could be.”
He makes a rough masculine sound as I wrap my fingers around his hard length.
“Please say it’s this,” I whisper, adding brazen to wanton and not caring one jot.
“Would you like me to give it to you?”
“I thought only girls could be a cocktease.”
His chuckle vibrates across my skin, but any further response is cut off by his kiss. Slow and thorough, he devours me little by little. My jaw, my neck, my breast as he palms again. Clasping it tight, his strong fingers slip into my neckline.
“Too tight. My dress is too tight.”
But my nipple is already free and at the mercy of his mouth. A throb of pleasure radiates from my core as his tongue swirls the hardened tip. I moan as he sucks, the noise changing in length and depth as his cheek, rough with stubble, brushes my breast. It seems only moments ago that his face was as smooth as silk.