Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 99981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
And Greer’s delicious moans follow me the entire way.
Yeah. Today is going to be a fan-fucking-tastic day.
Greer
My head pounds. Not, I should note, from an actual hangover involving too much alcohol, but simply from being in my thirties and staying awake past midnight.
I swear, the body switches off all cooperative function when you enter your third decade, and three years in, my suffering is only magnified.
I cover my eyes to block out all the sunlight and reach to the side of my bed to switch off my alarm.
Only, for some reason, I don’t feel my nightstand at all, but the hard yet supple flesh of a warm, naked body.
What am I doing on the wrong side of the bed?
And why does the empty spot on my bed feel like a human?
I peek one eye open, squinting through the crack of my fingers to find a navy-blue wall and gray drapes. It’s masculine and decorated and looks nothing like the plain white box I’m still living in.
Ironic, I suppose, since I’m an interior designer, but I’ve been really fucking busy.
Finally, after a minute of start-up time, my brain starts to run at full function, and I immediately remember where I am.
In fact, now that I do, I can’t even believe there was a scant moment I didn’t.
Trent Turner—the billionaire boss next door—and I…had sex last night.
And all day yesterday.
And even the night before that.
Basically, for the past twenty-four hours, we’ve been exploring each other until we can’t keep our fucking eyes open.
Wild, loud, sometimes dirty sex that I can still feel between my legs.
The craziest part of it, though, is that it didn’t feel crazy.
It felt right and easy, and simply…amazing.
His bedroom has been our home, and the painting Ben made of me in Jackson Square leans against the wall on top of his nightstand.
When I finally noticed it during a break from our sex yesterday, I took the opportunity to tease Trent about the fact that he does have a shrine to me.
I turn to face him, studying the lines of his face. He’s still asleep, and all the hard edges have rounded off into softness.
He looks tender and peaceful, and without the hypnotizing spell of his open green eyes, I can almost convince myself I stand some sort of chance against him.
But only almost.
I reach out slowly, carefully, and run the knuckles of my right hand over the tiny stubble that’s formed on his cheek overnight.
His hair is a mess, but I don’t think he’s ever looked more perfect.
Between one blink and the next, he opens his eyes and smiles.
“Good morning,” he says softly. Evidently, it doesn’t take his brain any time at all to boot up.
“Good morning,” I say with a smile. “I guess we’re going to have to actually go in to work today, huh?”
“You trying to get your boss to let you play hooky again?” He smirks like the devil, and I snort.
“God, I wish, but I have too many things to get done today.”
“You want to hear the silver lining?”
I nod.
“You have another meeting with your boss tonight.”
“I do?”
“Uh-huh,” he leans forward and presses a soft, too-short kiss to my lips. “Tonight. Eight p.m. Right here.” He reaches forward and places his big hands on my breasts. “And you are not allowed to cover these up.”
“So, just business casual, then?” My responding giggles turn to a moan when he leans forward to suck one nipple into his mouth and flick his tongue against it.
“Clothes aren’t optional, Greer,” he retorts in his bossy voice and moves his greedy mouth to my other breast, kissing and sucking and swirling his tongue and me into a frenzy.
I’m two seconds away from climbing on top of his body and riding him until we’re late for work, but a pounding coming from the front door stops me before I can even get started.
It’s loud and demanding and, in a way, confusing.
Because I swear, I’ve heard it before. From him.
“How are you in two places at once? Did you clone yourself?”
“Huh?” he asks, too busy jumping up from the bed and putting on pants to follow my logic.
“The door. That’s exactly what you sound like when you pound on mine.”
He shakes his head with a smile and tosses one of his shirts at me from the closet. I catch it, but I don’t make a move to do anything else.
“Are you coming?” he asks, and I laugh.
Oh boy, he’s funny.
“Uh, no. I think I’ll hide out here until I find out who it is.”
“Chicken,” he taunts, and I shrug.
“You bet your ass. Now, get out there and answer the door. If I’ve disappeared when you come back, check the roof.”
He charges forward and gives me a quick kiss and a tight hug as the pounding gets even louder.
Whoever’s on the other side of his door doesn’t like fucking around with waiting.