Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Obviously,” he answers.
Dying to know. Just dying. “Well . . . what’s in your Internet history, cutie?”
Owen taps his chin. “Let’s see. Where to buy locally farmed veggies. Weather in Markleeville . . .” And the flirt that he is, the fucking flirt, he runs his teeth along the corner of his mouth, a move that makes me want to kiss that corner even more, before he says in a casual tone, “And last night I searched for my favorite adult performer’s page.”
My skin buzzes with excitement. “And what was on his page?”
Owen smiles slyly. “A hot solo.”
I am on fire, since I’m not thinking of just any performer stroking it. I’m picturing Owen doing that for me.
Putting on a show.
I shove the phone at him wordlessly. He takes it, scans the questions, then asks, “Would you rather do it with the lights on or off?”
I try to reset my brain away from the image of Owen’s hot solo by answering the question clinically. “Lights on. Always. All the time,” I say, then scrunch my brow. “Except for middle-of-the-night sleepy sex. Lights off for that.”
A lazy smile plays on his face. “Mmm. Yeah,” he rasps, and tugs at the neck of his shirt.
Such a simple reaction, but so powerful. His words and deeds say he likes the same things I do.
And fuck clinical.
My gaze drifts down his face, his chest, his arms. What does Owen look like in the middle of the night, his skin illuminated only by moonlight? Shadows cast across all those muscles and flesh? What does he look like when he’s moving in the dark with a man?
With me? For me?
My mind goes hazy. I’m so attracted to him I don’t know what to do with this lust. It’s like I’m suffering from an overdose. I’ve ingested too much Owen today, but I can’t stop. I want more. I crave more.
I take the phone from him. Looking at the web page, I select another question. “Would you rather be handcuffed or blindfolded?” I ask Owen, then knit my brow as I contemplate the query. “Hmmm. That’s a dilemma.”
He chuckles. “Tough one for you to answer, River?”
“It is, since I don’t think I want either. For me, that is.”
“Because you like to be in control,” he says, with a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Mister Bossy.”
“Yes, I am. So can I pick that I’d rather be the one handcuffing and blindfolding?”
“You could pick if it were your turn to answer,” he says, taking his time with every word.
Flustered, I gesture to Owen. “Oh, right. It’s your turn.”
“You didn’t even let me get a word in, River,” he says, like a cat toying with its dinner. “Maybe you don’t want to know my choice.”
I want it more than breath. “I definitely want to know.”
Owen lifts his mug, takes another drink of champagne and puts it down. “Are you sure?”
Atoms and ions crackle between us. The air is more than charged. It’s an electrical storm.
“Positive,” I say crisply, then ask the question again to underline my need. “Owen, would you rather be handcuffed or blindfolded?”
“The answer is easy.”
“Tell me,” I say, practically pouncing on him.
He licks his lips. “I like to look at the guy I’m with. I like to see his face, how everything we’re doing makes him feel,” he tells me, and my body is the center of the earth right now. Magma has nothing on me as I listen to Owen tell me what he likes in bed. “I want to watch his expression shift as he gets close, when he’s all tortured and agonized with need. I want to see his body move over me, under me, against me. I want to look at him when his eyes squeeze shut.”
Fuck the center of the earth. I’m a supernova, burning up the atmosphere.
But Owen is so damn cool as he pushes to his feet, grabs his mug, and tosses me a glance. “So no blindfolding for this guy . . . I’d rather be handcuffed.”
He walks to the kitchen, grabs the champagne bottle, and pours a splash in his cup.
I can’t move at first. My dick weighs ten tons. My desire for Owen occupies all the space in the house.
And I’m entirely too transfixed by him to stay this far away, so I stand too, and head to the kitchen.
As he leans against the counter, his eyes travel up and down my frame. My erection is not a state secret. It’s an open book for anyone to read.
And he’s reading between the lines.
His eyes linger on my hard-on.
I stop a foot away from him, pour a splash too, then challenge him. “Your turn to ask me a question.”
Owen wastes no time. “Would you rather top or bottom?”
Now we’re really getting somewhere. A flush races up my neck as I stare at the man I want to sleep with. “That’s hard to answer,” I say.