Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
"Stopping me from what?"
"Leaking nudes. Claiming you were hacked."
"I'm CFO of a cyber security company. Not a good look."
She nods true. "Finding another photographer, then. Saying it's for art."
"Before, maybe. But I can't do that to Danielle."
"Uh-huh."
"I promised."
"Did you really?"
"Of course," I say.
She lets out a soft laugh. "How did that go? Danielle, I know you're my brother's girlfriend, but I don't care. You shouldn't be defined by a man. You should be defined by your tits."
"Everyone's seen them."
She continues. "And by your talent too. Your talent at capturing the beauty of your tits. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy your naked images yet?"
"It's relevant. They're self-portraits."
"Yes, Danielle. It's the artistry I appreciate. Not the beauty of your tits."
"Don't forget the ass."
"The whole package. You have it all." She turns to me. Imitates my posture. "I so appreciate your talent that I promise I won't allow any other woman to photograph me naked."
"Not for art."
She drops the Liam voice. "Is that really how it went?"
"I offered. She said she'd think about it. Didn't want it to be weird."
"Yeah, how could that be weird?"
"I know."
Briar laughs so hard her tits shake.
Not that I'm staring.
Fuck.
"I told her I was ready." I clear my throat. "Ready whenever she was. And I'd wait until she was."
"What if you ask for special permission? Since she said no?"
"She'll come around."
"You really think so?"
I have no idea.
"And you'd really do it?"
"I would."
"I believe that." She stares at the Empire State Building. "I don't think I would."
"Now? Or if you were a man?"
"Now. If I was a man… I'm sure I'd be as obnoxious as other men."
"There are men out there more obnoxious than I am?"
"Of course not." She smiles. "You're at the top."
"Thank fuck."
"But you have some stiff competition."
If she keeps talking about posing naked, I'm going to have something stiff. Fuck. That's not even a good joke.
And it's not a joke.
Blood is fleeing my brain at an alarming rate.
The booze isn't helping. It's a bulldozer to my inhibitions.
"I don't even want to imagine being a man." She smooths her dress. "It's funny. I can see all the downsides to being a woman. All the ways it makes my life harder." She raises a foot. "These shoes."
"You said they're comfortable."
"They are. But I bet yours are more comfortable."
"Let's trade."
She laughs. "They won't fit."
"Buy me some that will."
"You think I won't?"
"You think I won't wear them?"
She nods good point. "The shoes, the strapless bra, the dress. Having to pick out a dress for dinner. You can wear that suit all day."
"I have to wear it all day."
"It's easier."
"It's easy, yeah. But it doesn't leave a lot of room for sartorial expression."
"Sartorial?"
"Fashion."
"I know what it means. I just didn't expect to hear you say it."
"I'm full of surprises."
She nods you are. "I guess I didn't think of that. It's a pain in the ass, picking out a dress for dinner. Spending the money on another item of clothing. But it does offer me a lot more freedom to express myself."
"And that matters to you." I brush a purple strand behind her ear.
Her eyes flutter closed as my finger skims her jawline. "It does."
I need to touch her. I can't touch her. "It suits you."
"I know." Her eyes open. Meet mine. She stares up at me for a moment. Considering the possibility. Then her eyes flit to my tie. "You're not drinking."
I'm not.
"You didn't have to drink the same thing I did."
"Couldn't remember two recipes at once."
"You don't like it?"
I bring the glass to my lips. Take a long sip of cold liquid. The tartness of the grapefruit. That hint of juniper that screams of gin and Christmas. It's not bad, really. "It's no appletini."
"What is?"
The taste of her lips. Her skin. Her cunt.
Fuck.
What the fuck are we talking about?
Clothes.
Some shit about clothes. Men wearing suits. The short hemline of her dress. Her long legs on display.
"You do make an effort." Her eyes flit to my pocket square. "To bring a little flair to your style."
"I am Liam Pierce."
"Do you really feel like it's not enough?"
"I don't think about it."
"If you do."
"Sometimes." I take another sip. Try to ignore the mental image of her lips on mine. "It's easier. You're right."
"And you don't have to worry about wearing something too sexy. No one taking you seriously."
"Is that really a concern?"
"Is that an actual question?"
"Not the sex." I'm not an idiot. I see the way men treat her. Most are respectful. But most isn't enough. "Do you really want to be a serious guy in a suit? You could wear a suit every day now."
"No."
"You go to a lot of effort to dye your hair."
"It's easier than it looks."
"Keep it in that neat line." I trace it without thinking.
She shudders as my fingers brush her neck.
"Paint your lips wine."
"I make an effort, sure."