Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
“Lainey, wait.”
She stills, her shoulders dropping a hitch. “You’re not going to suggest talking, are you? Haven’t we done enough of that tonight?”
This woman. I smile, bordering on embarrassed. I’m also in shock to some extent. So many of the women I’ve bedded over the years have wanted the words. The connection. Wanted me to know them. “I just don’t want you to think this is all about the sex for me.” I actually cannot believe those words just came out of my mouth. It’s official. I’m a certified fucking pussy.
“I don’t.” She swoops down and attacks my mouth in a total ploy to snare me. Damn her, she very nearly gets me.
But I rip myself away and hold her in place, stopping her from tempting me with her annoyingly irresistible wiles. She looks at me, quite rightly in question, and me? Well, I just shrug. Guess it’s better than spilling any more girlie shit.
“Don’t tell me you want to know what my favorite color is,” she asks, her whole body going lax over mine.
I contemplate that sarcastic question for a split second, then flip her onto her back, cocking my leg over her body to keep her there, getting my face close to hers. “What’s your favorite color?” I ask, grinning.
She rolls her eyes at me in total exasperation. “Gray. Yours?”
I smile. “Gray.” Except on my head. “We were meant to be together. Why do you like gray?”
“It’s universal. Goes with anything.”
“Agreed. What’s your favorite movie?”
“Titanic,” she answers quickly. “Yours?”
“Anything Kate Winslet. This gets better. Favorite band?”
“Coldplay.” She’s tentative this time, wary. “If you say Coldplay, I’ll lose all trust in you.”
“It’s not Coldplay,” I confirm.
“Phew. That was getting freaky.”
I laugh and reach down, biting her cheek. The sound of her giggling has my cock reminding me that her pussy is very close right now. “You don’t think we were meant to be together?” I munch on her face, moving down to her neck and ravaging her there, all the while delighting in her laughter. And I also move my fingers to her underarms and dig them in, hoping she’s ticklish there. I win. She starts squirming like a crazy woman, yelling. I’m trying to be underhanded, forcing an answer from her that I want to hear.
“Obviously we were.” She laughs uncontrollably, panting through my torture. “Tyler!”
“So she’s ticklish, eh?” I muse, unrelenting in my wriggling fingers where it counts. Her laughter is like sweet fucking music to my ears. I can’t get enough.
“Yes, stop!”
“Tell me who your favorite man is and then I’ll stop.”
“David Beckham.”
David Beckham? She hasn’t got the gist of this game. I suck on her neck, enjoying the feeling of her fighting against me. “Wrong answer, beautiful.” I dig my fingers in under her arms some more.
“Tyler!” She flips and bucks unsuccessfully. “Stop!”
“Try again. Who’s your favorite man?”
“You,” she yells. “You’re my favorite man!”
“Who, now?”
“Tyler! Ty! Mr. Christianson! Tyler Christianson!”
“Good answer.” I release her and pull back, loving the sight of her heaving on the bed, trying to pull herself together. She looks so beautiful. Even fully clothed. Even with her hair a sham of locks sticking out everywhere.
“Fucking hell, Ty,” she breathes, settling a little.
Even cursing her beautiful arse off. She. Is. Gorgeous. “I have an idea,” I say, taking her hands and pulling her up. Do I want to fuck her right this second? God, yes. But . . . I can wait until I get her down to my pool. I snatch a condom from the nightstand drawer and stuff it in my pocket.
“What?” Lainey sounds reluctant.
I lead her to the door. “We’re going for a swim.”
She stops abruptly in her tracks and looks at me with worried eyes. “A swim?”
“Yes.” I half-smile at her as she glances from me to my front door.
“You have a pool?”
“I do,” I confirm. She’s still looking between me and the door, biting nervously on her bottom lip.
“My hair will get wet,” she says quietly.
“That tends to happen when you go for a swim.”
“I don’t have any swimwear with me.”
“You don’t need any.” I reclaim her hand and pull, feeling the resistance traveling up her arm.
“Ty, I’m really not in the mood,” Lainey says, staggering along behind me. “Let’s get on your couch. Watch a film or something. Or talk.”
Talk? Yikes, she really doesn’t want to swim. “We’ll do that after we’ve had a swim,” I counter, leading her on. She tries to pry our hands apart, and I look back on a frown, noticing an expression of genuine worry. It prompts me to slow my pace until I come to a stop, turning to face her. She’s refusing to look at me now, her eyes dropped. “It’s just a swim,” I say soothingly, immediately losing the mental image of Lainey in my pool naked.
“I’m not a fan of swimming,” she mumbles to the floor, pulling her hand free from mine.