Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 50828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Does she sense on some level that I’m her foe? Tonight, I’ll give her all the compliments and climaxes she can handle. I’ll drown her in pleasure, give her orgasms, coax her trust, and enjoy the hell out of her.
Tomorrow? I’ll drop the hammer, and shit will get real—fast.
CHAPTER FIVE
Isabella
The night is everything. For hours, the stranger lavishes me with attention. He feeds me. He holds me. In the shower, he cleans me from head to toe…only to dirty me up again in his bed twice more. The pleasure he heaps on me is insane. And the things that man can do with his tongue? Holy cow.
If I had known this man existed sooner, I would have ditched Eric. He was a waste of my time. But my stranger makes me feel boneless and crazy happy. Hours fly by in a dreamlike idyll where the laws of time and space and hookups being meaningless don’t apply. He keeps me under him and screaming in ecstasy. Already, he has me hoping for a future beyond tonight.
I think I’m falling in love.
That sounds crazy. I still don’t even know this man’s name. We agreed to wait until morning to discuss anything practical. Tonight is for us.
Finally, around four a.m. I fall asleep in his arms, curled up in sheets that smell like our passion. I nuzzle against him, already looking forward to waking up in his embrace.
But when I wake, the sun stabs my eyes and the bed is empty. I wince against the harsh light and find him dressed, sitting in a chair I didn’t notice last night. His elbows are balanced on his knees as he leans forward, dissecting me with a dark, dispassionate gaze.
Trying to ignore my skitter of unease, I clutch the sheet to my naked body and sit up. “Morning. Sorry I slept so late.”
He shrugs. “I expected that.”
Maybe, but I can’t tell if he minds. “Have you been up long?”
“A few hours. Why don’t you get dressed? I set some clothes on the bathroom counter for you, along with a fresh toothbrush and a new comb. I’ll head downstairs and make you some coffee. How do you like it?”
So he’s not throwing me out right away. “One sugar and a splash of creamer.”
“Hazelnut okay?”
Despite the unexpected tension between us, I attempt a smile. “My favorite.”
He doesn’t smile back. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
As he turns to leave, I remember what he took from me last night, besides sanity. “My underwear, where are they?”
“You don’t need them anymore.”
Then he’s gone. I sputter at the empty space where he stood moments ago. What does that mean? Of course I need underwear…unless he’s hoping I stay the rest of the weekend. If that’s the case, he’s right. I don’t need them—at least until I leave.
Once I do, I’m not returning to Eric. So I still don’t have anywhere to call home. I have to solve that problem…
Wincing, I slide out of bed, every muscle in my body deliciously sore—especially my inner thighs. My girl parts feel tender and swollen and well used. But oh, the discomfort is worth the agonizing pleasure my stranger gave me.
Now I know exactly what I’ve been missing.
I’m probably way more attached to this hookup than I should be, but even if we only last another day or two, he’s shown me what to look for in a lover. I’ll never give Eric Meadows a scrap of my attention or affection again.
After a quick rinse in his shower, I use the toothbrush and comb he thoughtfully laid out, then slip on the sweatpants and soft, long-sleeved T-shirt. Damn it, I don’t have a bra, either. Sighing, I hop into his thick socks and meander downstairs.
His house, like his bedroom, is fastidiously neat. It’s also comfortable and functional, filled with grays and blues and the occasional pops of color that catch my eye. There isn’t a feminine touch in sight.
That makes me happier than it should.
I follow the smell of coffee and find the kitchen. The man I spent the night with leans over his coffeemaker.
He looks every bit as mouthwateringly fit as he is. Under the morning sun, his hair seems more salt than pepper. But the undeniable tension coming off him makes me pause. Instead of shivering in anticipation of his touch, I’m worried he’s looking for a nice way to show me the door.
“English muffin? Toast? Eggs?” he asks without facing me.
How did he even know I was here? “I don’t usually eat breakfast.”
That makes him turn with a disapproving stare. “When you’re with me, you do. Choose or I’ll choose for you.”
Last night, he was bossy in the bedroom. Outside of it? That’s not okay. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
“English muffin it is.” He reaches into his pantry.
I cross the room to him and grab his arm. “Seriously, don’t go to any trouble. I rarely eat before noon.”