Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“I’m more of a shower man myself.” His gaze darkens as it sweeps up and down where I sit curled on the blanket across from him, the remains of our meal between us. “But I could learn to enjoy a bath. With the right company.”
I bite my bottom lip, that hot, hungry-for-things-besides-food feeling swirling between my thighs again at the thought of Anthony in the bath with me. “It would have to be a big bathtub.”
“Not so big. You’re tiny,” he says, moving the olive oil plate and the last of our charcuterie platter to one side.
I shake my head. “I’m not. I’m short, not tiny. There’s a difference.”
“You’re perfect,” he says, continuing to clear the blanket between us, intensifying the ache low in my body.
“I’m chubby,” I insist, some perverse part of me insisting on telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth with this man. As strange as it probably is, I want him to see me, the real me, even the parts that aren’t anywhere close to perfect. “But I love food too much to care.”
“And I love your curves,” he says, shifting closer and reaching for me, sending my nervous system into another minor meltdown as he pulls me into his lap like I weigh less than the picnic basket. His hands skim over my ass to my waist, before coming to rest on my ribs as he adds, “Since last night, your body is pretty much all I’ve been able to think about.”
“Really?” I ask, breath catching as he brings one hand to cup my breast through my sweater. Even with the thick fabric between his skin and mine, the touch makes me burn.
“Really,” he assures me, holding my gaze as his hand tightens around my breast, sending a jolt of arousal from my nipple to coil between my legs.
“Don’t lie,” I whisper, hating that I have to say it, but I want this to be authentic. Or as authentic as it can be considering the fact that he’s basically my employee. “You don’t have to say things you don’t mean. I’d rather you don’t, actually.”
“I never say things I don’t mean,” he says, his eyes blazing into mine. “I’ve been dreaming about your nipples in my mouth since the moment I saw you.”
I gulp, but before I can reply he adds, “Last night, I thought about it so much, I had to take care of myself after. I jerked off to thoughts of you rocking on top of me, telling me how good I felt inside you, Maya. That’s the truth.”
Blood rushes fast and hot, flooding into my core, making my head spin as I whisper, “I touched myself, too. Thinking of you.”
He curses softly as he pulls me closer, his hands shifting on my aching body until one cool palm is under my sweater, teasing my nipple through just the thin silk of my bra. “Fuck, Maya,” he rasps as he kisses me, hard and deep, making me moan as he continues to pluck at my nipple with his fingers.
“God,” I gasp, clinging to his shoulders as desire unlike anything I’ve ever felt floods through me. “God, Anthony…”
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he rumbles against my lips.
“No, don’t stop,” I beg, shifting on his lap, spreading my legs to straddle him on the blanket, sighing in relief as my aching core makes contact with where he’s hard beneath his jeans. “Don’t ever stop. Touch me everywhere.”
I’m past caring that we’re technically in public.
The garden is closed, we’re alone, and I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
“You’re so sexy, so sweet,” he says as he draws the fabric of my bra down below my breast, baring my skin to his touch. “I want to touch you, beautiful. Can I lay you down on this blanket and make you come for me?”
“Yes,” I say, a startled, but hungry sound bursting from my chest as he rolls me swiftly beneath him. Suddenly, my sweater is being whipped off over my head, making my hair crackle with static electricity that is nothing compared to the electrical storm that devastates my body as Anthony kisses my breasts.
As he licks and sucks and drags his teeth lightly over my nipples, making me squirm and then writhe and then beg him to touch me.
To take me.
“Please, I need you,” I say, so wet I’m sure I’ve soaked through my panties and am on course to ruin my jeans. “I need you inside me.”
“Not yet, beautiful, not here,” he says, his voice as rough as mine. “But I’m going to take the edge off, I promise.” He thumbs open the button at the top of my jeans and jerks the zipper down.
A beat later, his hand is slipping down the front of my jeans, into my panties, down until his fingers glide into where I’m embarrassingly turned on.