Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
I hear the air whizzing from his nose more than I see it. “No. Marriages should be sacramental. You shouldn’t put yourself in a position to cheat, much less act on thoughts you shouldn’t be having.”
His response drives me wild with desire, but I try to keep a rational head. “So… you’re single?”
This time, his disbelieving chuckle is more prominent since I shakingly spin to face him. “All the way.” When my eyes shoot to his ring finger to check like I haven’t done precisely that a hundred times in the past ten minutes, he pulls his phone out of his pocket before handing it to me. “There’s no lock code, and I’m active on most social media sites. Scroll as long as you want.”
After being deceived in a way that will always hang a shadow over my confidence, his reply is everything I need to hear. It liberates my conscience and has me desperate to take back the piece of my womanhood Peter stole when he cheated.
So instead of scrolling the mystery stranger’s phone like I did Peter’s for a week before I walked in on my worst nightmare, I dump it on the desk his backside is propped on and throw myself into his arms, sealing my mouth over his lips.
Strangers or not, I want this.
I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
The moment should be awkward. It should be uncoordinated and uncomfortable.
It is far from any of those things.
His kiss is too wild for that.
Too roasting.
And his skills… damn. He has no trouble dueling his tongue with mine. At the same time, he toys with my nipples through the rigid material of my dress.
Desire rushes through me when he swallows the moan I can’t hold back. Peter wasn’t interested in my Christmas baubles. I always thought he was more of a legs man than a boobs man. I learned otherwise in the bakery earlier this week.
As if busting your fiancé cheating isn’t bad enough, I was stuck in Oregon for five days with the loved-up couple, who didn’t care about my feelings in the slightest. They took the itinerary I’d configured and ran with it.
They even collected the tree I’d paid for from the lot and decorated it with my decorations.
The stranger, whose name remains a mystery, shifts my focus far from Peter and his four-inch dick when he drops his lips from my mouth to my neck. He suckles on my skin before tracking his tongue along the veins keeping my heart rate high.
“Fuck me, you taste like”—I beg him to say sin and depravity. Heaven and hell. Sex and… sex. I don’t get close to any of my guesses—“Candy canes and hot chocolate.”
“That’s the woman in seat 17A’s fault. She’d packed a canister of mint cocoa, unaware the container would pressurize in the cabin of the airplane. When she opened it, it squirted all over me.”
His growl makes my frustration nowhere near as bad. It sends a hot pulse darting through my veins and has me wishing my sleeveless shirt hadn’t absorbed most of the mess.
He may have been interested in sampling every inch of me if I was coated head to toe in cocoa.
Instead, he backs away before dropping his eyes to the hem of my dress that’s ridden up high on my thighs. “Spread your legs for me.”
“The cocoa didn’t get me there.” I circle my chest. “It was more this region.”
He smiles like I’m being witty before repeating his demand. “Spread your legs for me.”
When I do as asked, the shudder wobbling my thighs is for a completely different reason than embarrassment.
He cusses for the second time before palming the rock behind his zipper. “Hmm-mmm, even sexier than my deviant head imagined.” My emotions don’t know which way to swing when he says, “But I need to take my time with you. Savor you.”
His confession shocks me. Things are moving quickly, but if this were my standard Friday night ritual, he would have been finished and snoring by now, so I run with it.
My clit thumps out a mariachi beat when he returns his eyes to my face before saying, “I have a permanent reservation at a hotel a couple of miles from here.” I must express something I didn’t mean to show because he’s quick to try and settle my unease. “I’ve never taken anyone there. I don’t work when I come home.” His last mumbled sentence fills my head with many questions, but his following ensures nothing but my libido has centerstage. “But I’d like you to be the first.”
The tension eases a smidge when I jokingly ask, “How much will it cost me?”
“Not a damn thing,” he replies, grinning.
After tugging down my dress until it covers my damp panties, he curls his hand around mine before hightailing it out of the office we were about to sully.