Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37200 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 186(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
The elevator stops. I swipe my key card on the panel again. Yes, again, three times if Bill isn’t at the front desk. Ezra’s building is locked up tighter than Fort Knox. I step into the foyer. The living room is straight ahead as well as wrapping around the corner, leading to the terraces. If it were a bit warmer, that’s where I’d be until Ezra comes home. Instead, I veer toward the right and head to the kitchen to put my bags on the table, giving myself the room to spread out and work on the documents. The owners of Brews and Books haven’t mentioned selling since nearly seven or so months ago, but judging by the way their son has been by every month and the fact that I haven’t heard from them besides through email, I’m assuming there’s only a certain amount of time I have left. I’m placing my laptop bag on the chair, still having my overnight bag on my shoulder, when my phone buzzes again. I pull it out, figuring it’s Nessa telling me something unimportant. A meme about the weather or how annoying men can be are par for the usual. A phone call is where the serious stuff takes place. It’s not Nessa. I’ve got three messages from Ezra.
Ezra: You don’t have to text me every time you’re at my place. See you for dinner.
Ezra: Shit, looks like my meeting will be running late.
Ezra: Chinese, pizza, or Japanese?
I have to smile at his rapid-fire texts. My phone going off was the least of my worries. All I wanted was to take my bags off my shoulders, get what’s worrying me the most out of the way, and to relax for the rest of the night.
Millie: I’ll always text. It’s rude not to. That’s fine on the meeting. I have paperwork to do. And Japanese. I’ll place the order when you leave, and you can pick it up on the way?
I put my phone down on the kitchen table, drop my overnight back in another chair to put in Ezra’s room later. An unspoken rule of his—sleepovers are allowed, but leaving things at one another’s place is a completely different scenario. I wouldn’t care if he left something at my house—a toothbrush, cuff links, a tie, but there is literally nothing, even after I offered to make room. Ezra shook his head, telling me no. I got the hint. His place is his place, and my place is my place. Did it sting? Absolutely. Am I glutton for punishment? Also yes.
Ezra: Sounds good to me. See you later.
I don’t respond, already know what we both like. Ezra is a creature of habit with all things, work, food, sleep pattern, and if I thought my past was screwed up, well, his gives me a run for my money. The reason my grandmother raised me would be because my parents were gone more than home, making our relationship even more strained. I chose to move in with my grandma at a younger age given the choice via my parents, her son and daughter-in-law, so she raised me, my parents sent money, and while I don’t have a trust fund like a lot of my friends, I had plenty, enough to go to college without worrying. And I have a hefty amount in my high yield savings account. I know, I know, the smarter thing would be to put it in a CD, making me more in interest, but I wasn’t sure when the time would come that I’d need to access the money. I grab my papers, laptop, and pen out of my bag, setting everything else aside, and then take my seat. It’s time to get shit taken care of and make Books and Brews mine.
FOUR
Ezra
Christ, getting home closer to nine o’clock wasn’t my idea of fun. The only good thing was walking through the door and seeing Millie sitting on the couch, a glass of white wine beside her and some reality trash television show on in the background. It’s when she pops off the couch, rounding it, making her way toward me that the stress from the day falls off my shoulders. There is no way in hell we’re making it to the bedroom. I take her mouth, nipping at her upper lip. A low whimper permeates the otherwise quiet living room. My tongue sweeps inside, getting another taste of her, a taste that never seems to last long enough. She matches me stroke for stroke. My hands grab her hips, pulling her closer.
“Ezra,” she breathes my name between our kisses.
“I’m taking you, Millie. Bend over,” I groan, backing away, taking my shoes, socks, suit jacket, tie, and buttoned-down shirt off quickly, leaving me in my undershirt and slacks.
“Is this how you want me?” I watch as she moves while taking my undershirt off with one hand at the back of my neck, hurrying so I don’t miss a single fucking thing. The minute Millie arches her back, grabbing ahold of the arm rests, I’m on her faster than lightening flashing in a thunderstorm on a hot summer afternoon. All her soft flesh is on full display, that heart-shaped ass upturned, the glistening of her wetness coating the inside of her thighs.