Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“If I’d known, I would’ve come straight home.”
“What about your date?”
I shrug. I would’ve fake cancelled my fake date, I don’t say, relieved when he doesn’t demand more. “How come you’re home early?”
“Things got sorted quicker than I thought they would.” He pulls out a black beanie from the back pocket of his tight running pants, throwing it to the couch. Judging by the color in his cheeks, he’s recently come back from a run, rather than about to head out for one.
“Cool.” God, this is awkward. As excited as was to open the door and realize he’s home, it’s not like I could’ve launched myself into his arms. Sort of, hi, honey, I’m home! So what do I do now? Just stand here, making it more awkward than it already is?
“How was Garrett?” Despite his mild tone, his eyes glitter heatedly.
“Meh. He was okay.” I can do this, I tell myself. I can sell it. I sold him on the idea of us in the first place, didn’t I?
“Well, that’s nice.”
“Nice. That about sums my evening up.” It’s time to get this show on the road, I decide, as my feet begin to move again. Whit tracks my steps across the living room, and I drop into an armchair with a sigh. “But you know what no one ever told me?”
“That you make the hottest sounds when I’m balls deep inside you?”
My mouth drops open in shock, and my insides seem set to throb. That wasn’t the direction I was going in. Shouldn’t I be used to his smutty segues by now?
Apparently, I’m not.
“Was that not it?” he asks, all innocent eyes as he crosses his arms at the hem of his fleece sweater.
“No, it was not.”
“Then I give in.” He gives a quick shrug before quickly pulling the sweater up his torso then over his head. “Sorry for interrupting, but you were saying?”
“I was saying…” something before this dizzying visual assault. Does the man not own T-shirts? But I guess that’s the point, like his words, the whole tan, toned and lickable sight of him meant to provoke. And it does. It provokes all kind of sensations as pleasure spirals its way through me, his muscles rippling and flexing as he sets his bottle water on the floor next to a rolled towel.
“Something that that no one ever told you,” he prompts as he gracefully lowers himself to the floor. He swipes a hand through his ruffled hair before resting his wrists on his bent knees. “Now that I think about it, it couldn’t have been the conversation we had about the noises you make.”
“What’s wrong with me?” I give my head a tiny shake. It can be hard to follow Whit’s conversations at the best of times, but when he’s shirtless… “I mean, what’s wrong with the noises I make?”
“There’s nothing wrong with them.” He reaches for what I thought was a wrapped towel but is actually a foam cylinder. “Quite the opposite.”
I startle a little as, in one fluid motion, he drops to the floor in a push-up position, swiping his legs behind him.
“What are you doing?” My voice is a little high as I watch him readjust the foam thing under the front of his left thigh.
“Stretching my quads.” His explanation sounds so reasonable as he slides the opposite knee to hip level. But the way he’s poised is not so reasonable—he looks like he’s about to show the foam a really good time. I startle as he suddenly glances up at me. “They’re a little taut.”
I know that feeling.
“I’ve never…” seen him deliver from this angle. Positioned over the roller on his palms, veins, tendons, and muscles pop in his toned arms. And his ass? Is it any wonder my thoughts go straight to the gutter.
“Never what?”
I give my head a sharp shake as though to rouse myself. Was I even speaking? I thought I was just perving. Whit’s response to my non-response is ripple of motion as his hips dip and he grinds—yeah, grinds—working himself over the foam cylinder.
Absolutely like he was doing it.
He flexes and the thing rolls forward and back with his movements. But that’s not the important part to note because this vantage point must be the reason people install mirrored ceilings.
“You seem deep in thought,” he says, without lifting his head.
“Yeah. Thinking,” I answer like a lady Neanderthal. Where is there a club and a cave when you need one?
“Thinking about what?”
Thinking about how this must be what you look like doing me. “Sorry, what?”
“Maybe this will refresh your memory.” His words are a groan of pleasured agony as he slowly undulates as though intent on hitting the roller’s pleasure spots. Lord knows he’s certainly hitting mine. I’m not sure about my memory but I might need to refresh my panties.