Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Okay.” She hesitated. “Thank you again for letting me stay. Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t.”
“No problem. Goodnight.” Anxious to get inside before I lost control and kissed her again, I headed for the back door, carefully skirting around her so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch.
“Night,” she called softly.
Upstairs, I checked on the kids—sound asleep—then slipped into my bedroom and closed the door. After yanking my shirt off, I couldn’t resist moving closer to the window and peering around the shade again.
The light was on in the garage apartment, and the shade on the window facing the house was up. She came over to the window and looked out.
I knew she couldn’t see me, but I still held my breath. For a second, the teenager in me hoped she might take off her shirt. Those tantalizing nipples poking through white cotton lingered in my mind. I could practically feel them between my fingertips, beneath my tongue.
But after a moment, she pulled down the shade, and the light went off.
I got into bed and lay on my back, overcome with the urge to slide my hand into my pants and work off the pent-up tension with a quick orgasm. My dick was so hard, and it would feel so good. I untied the drawstring and eased the waist below my hips, closing my fist around my cock.
Closing my eyes, I thought of her. I pictured her long, lithe body. I tasted her on my tongue. I inhaled the scent of her skin. I heard the soft, sweet moan escape her lips. I felt her hands on my back.
I imagined what it might have been like if our circumstances were different. If I’d had the house to myself tonight. If she were in bed with me right now. Naked. Panting. Greedy for my cock. Maybe she’d talk dirty to me, or like it when I said filthy things to her. Maybe she’d love the way I used my tongue on her clit, the way I made her come with my fingers. Maybe she’d get on her knees for me, let me fuck that gorgeous mouth. Maybe she’d beg me to fuck her. I could practically hear my name on her lips, smell the sex in the room, feel her pussy tighten around me as she whispered—yes, yes, yes . . .
Swallowing the groan that threatened to escape, I tightened my fist and jerked myself harder and faster, coming in quick, hot pulses that left a sticky mess on my stomach.
Jesus.
After my heartbeat quieted and my breathing returned to normal, I made my way into the bathroom to clean up. Two minutes later, I was back in bed, hands behind my head, staring up at the ceiling.
Was she asleep? Was she thinking about me? I wondered if I’d made the right decision not to hire her, or if I’d dismissed the idea too quickly. Would it be so bad to have her around this summer?
Xander’s voice was still in my head.
You’re a fucking idiot.
The following morning, the first thing I did was reach for my phone and Google her. She didn’t appear to have social media accounts, which surprised me until I recalled Mabel telling me Veronica’s ex had made her delete them. I saw a couple articles related to being a Rockette—she’d been interviewed on different blogs or news media—but the item that caught my eye was a wedding announcement from a Chicago newspaper.
I clicked on it and held my breath as the photo popped up. She looked beautiful, sitting there in a chair in front of her fiancé, who stood with his hand on her shoulder, as if to keep her down. But she also looked kind of miserable. No smile, no light in her eyes, no sign of love or chemistry between them. She looked like a caged bird.
Setting my phone aside, I threw on some clothes and went downstairs, feeling torn about what to do.
I hadn’t slept great, so I was a little groggy as I sipped my first cup of coffee, looking out the kitchen window at the backyard. For a second, I thought my eyes were deceiving me—was Veronica lying on the lawn?
Squinting, I chugged more caffeine as she pressed her hands into the ground and peeled her upper body off the grass, her face lifting to the bright blue sky.
Fuck, she was doing yoga.
She wore a black sports bra and little black shorts that showed off her legs. Her blond hair sat in a nest on top of her head, and her feet were bare. I moved a little closer to the window.
She held that pose for a moment and then shifted into a new one, moving through a plank to an inverted V shape, her legs perfectly straight, her heels on the ground, her arms stretched out, and her head tucked between her biceps. I was mesmerized by the perfect lines her body created—especially her spine, which formed a gentle concave curve from her tailbone all the way to the back of her neck.