Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“How do you know that?”
She tilted her head, causing dark hair to skim against her bare arm . . . and his mouth to go dry. “Are you asking me a lot of questions to stall me from going out, Burgess?”
Was he?
Maybe.
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was softer than before, almost flirtatious. “You tell me.” A fraction of a second after that flirty opening left her mouth, she started, seeming almost surprised at herself and rushed to fill the ensuing charged silence. “I’m trying to relearn how to create . . . social networks, I guess. I need them, you know?” A shadow danced in the brown of her eyes. “I can’t stay inside and avoid the world forever.”
“Pretty rude of you to call me out like that. First day on the job, too. Is this the kind of abuse I should expect from you?”
A dimple popped in her cheek. “Do you stay inside and avoid the world, Burgess?”
“Happily,” he replied, no idea if he meant it or not. In the not so recent past, he would have been more positive of his answer. Yes, avoiding people and annoying situations made him abundantly happy. Or at least comfortable. But he wasn’t sure if happy was the word to describe him anymore. Existing was more like it. Coping.
“Hmmm.” She definitely wanted to say more, but her gaze traveled past Burgess and landed on something behind him. “Does that sweatshirt say ‘Orgasm Donor’?”
It took him a moment to comprehend the question, because he was so distracted by her incredible lips moving in such a way that they released the word “orgasm.” In his bedroom. With that sexy leather skirt on. Had he really set himself up for this kind of continuous torture?
Oh. Shit. The sweatshirt.
“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I can explain.”
“No need.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I already know how orgasms are donated.”
Could his eyes really be blamed for homing in on her incredible thighs? His sex drive was beyond healthy and he’d been celibate for over a year. Now he was facing the overstimulation of this knockout flirting with him one second, drawing back the next. His cock had no idea what to do, so it just got hard by default. “You don’t know how I donate them.”
“I don’t think I’ll be finding out,” she blurted, sounding suspiciously breathy. “Will I?”
Mother of God, he wanted to chance a step forward, and he came right to the edge of his willpower before reminding himself why she needed boundaries. And how badly he wanted her to feel safe around him. But he would have gladly given his MVP trophy to look down into her upturned face when he said, “Your call, Tallulah.”
Because son of a bitch, it turned her on.
No mistaking that.
It wouldn’t matter if he went six months or six years without sex, he knew what it meant when a woman looked at him the way Tallulah did just then. As if mentally trying him on for size, perhaps against her better judgment. Her gaze meandered down to his stomach, teasing the button at the top of his fly, flitting across the breadth of his shoulders, dragging up his neck. All within two seconds. But it was enough to make him wonder what if. What if they were closer in age and he wasn’t a divorced, burned-out has-been hiding an injury? Would it be understood that she was safe with him at all times?
Would he be the one peeling off that tight little skirt at the end of the night?
Yeah, all right. He really needed to quit this line of thought before the situation downstairs got any worse. His back wasn’t the only part of him throbbing.
“That’s not my sweatshirt, by the way. We stole them off the rookies today.”
“Who is we?”
“Me and Sig. Chloe’s soon-to-be stepbrother.”
A smile danced around the edges of her mouth. “Why did you do that?”
He snorted. “They showed up in matching sweatshirts, Tallulah.”
“Technically, you all match when you wear your uniform.”
“Our uniforms don’t say ‘Orgasm Donor.’”
“Maybe they should. Think of the crowds.”
Softly, she mimicked the sound of an explosion, and he found himself wanting to laugh. Also to ask her to stay home and talk to him just like this. All night. The apartment already felt better with her there and she’d only moved in a few hours ago.
“Um . . .” She looked kind of surprised to still be standing there. “Lissa is almost done with her math homework. She did her English on the bus. There’s a science packet due next week, so she should work on that a little bit tonight—kind of bummed I’m missing it. Science is my thing.” She drummed her fingers against the side of her thigh. “Break any noses tonight?”