Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
It’s intimate the way he’s holding me, and aggressive the way he’s using me. I feel held and used all at once, and it’s so damn good. This is a kind of hard, rough sex I didn’t know I was into.
But it turns out, I am.
I’m clawing at the sheets as he pounds into me. I’m moaning and gasping. He’s grunting and cursing. My cells light up with each thrust. When I’m close, obviously close, he lets go of my tits, moves that hand up the back of my neck and into my hair.
He tugs on some strands, and that’s it. It sends me over the cliff. My brain blanks out. It goes offline as my body shakes.
The orgasm hurtles through me, a burst of pleasure and light and fire. I’m calling his name as he drives into me, then stills, jerks and groans for days.
Another slow pump. Another moan. Then he slumps over me, brushes my hair from my neck, and presses a tender kiss there.
He’s somehow filthy and sweet. And the way he fucks me is the best welcome to San Francisco ever.
A little later, we’re cleaned up and in bed, flicking through the channels, but finding nothing exciting to watch. Since, well, it’s regular TV.
I’m not sure how this works—hotel sex. Do we stay the night? It’s not even midnight. It’s eleven. And the day feels like it’s been ninety-six hours long and I’m tired, but I haven’t had dinner, even though the ice cream was real good. My stomach speaks up, growling.
Rude bitch.
He laughs. “You hungry, Josie?”
“That’s a yes.”
“Let’s get some food.”
I frown. “Do I have to get dressed?”
He scoffs. “No way.”
Soon, we’re dining on sushi in bed from a nearby restaurant, and he’s telling me about his favorite cafés in the city and the best place to get a latte, and I tell him about the places I want to see. But we don’t trade numbers. Or last names. We don’t say I’d love to see you again. And we don’t make plans.
Still, there’s one very important thing I want to say. My aunt gave me a list of the top things she’s never regretted, and since I’ve finally started tackling the items on the list, and making them my own, it seems right to let number one know how I feel. I draw a soldiering breath then say, “That thing I wanted to do?”
He adopts a perplexed look. “What would that be?”
I swat his biceps. “Have a one-night stand with a sexy stranger.”
“Ah, that thing. Yes, I recall it now.”
He’s making this so easy. Still, it feels important to get this right. When someone you love gives you instructions before they go, it seems like you should handle them with care. Wesley’s part of the list now. Part of this new history of me. The first checkmark. So I meet his eyes and say, “I’m glad it was you.”
He dips his face, smiling. When he lifts it, he locks his gaze with mine again, then says, “Me too.”
There’s an intensity in those warm, soulful eyes that makes my stomach flip. That makes me wonder what it would be like if he was more than a stranger. Briefly, I toy with the idea of asking if he wants to hang out, but there’s no item on Aunt Greta’s list or mine for anything more than one night. My new job starts in two more days—on Tuesday. My new life.
Best to be true to the plan.
We’re both quiet for a beat, and maybe he’s unsure of what happens next when he says, “So the night ended better than it began?”
“It really did,” I say, then I yawn, fighting to stay awake.
“Go to sleep,” he says, on a yawn too. “Sleep makes a perfect one-night stand even more perfect.”
I take off my glasses again. We dim the lights, slide under the covers, and crash into slumber.
I’m dead to the world until I get up to pee early in the morning. When I trudge back to bed, I fumble around for my phone to check the time and squint at the screen.
Christian: Get ready to be an aunt! Liv is in labor for real, and the babies are almost here!
Then he sends me the address to the hospital.
I bolt upright, wide awake despite the fact it’s five a.m. In a flurry, I jam on my glasses, yank on clothes, find a tube of toothpaste and smear some on my teeth, then hunt for a pad of paper.
Finding one, I scribble out a note, thanking Wesley.
Then I go, leaving him behind and taking the sexiest memory of my life with me into the early dawn.
7
GLASS SCARF
Wesley
The fading scent of cinnamon drifts past my nose. That’s a real nice way to wake up. But there are even better ways to rise. I stretch an arm across the bed, reaching for Josie. She’s adventurous. Maybe she’ll be up for one more round.