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)
But one question remains. Underwear: did she forgo or no?
“No canelés,” she states with a tiny moue.
“Good.” Even if they were a pain in the arse to source, they were El’s thing.
“I nibbled on other things.”
“Nibbled,” I repeat, though not in the same vein as I press my hands to her waist and maneuver her between me and the table.
“I thought you wanted me to sit on your knee.”
“I want to look at you first.” I clasp my hands to her hips and allow my gaze to crawl up from her pink-painted toenails to where her legs disappear under the hem of my shirt. But as I sit forward, I realize something isn’t quite right. “What’s wrong?”
“I feel like we should talk about what happened.”
“Oh?” Her body moves with my hands as I adjust my grip a little, my thumbs pulling the sides of my shirt apart from the last button down. “I see you went with underwear.”
“What?”
I lift my head, unperturbed by how serious she looks. “Underwear optional?”
“Ah, yeah. It seemed like the best option.”
“For whom?” I can’t stop the quirk to my lips. “Next time, I’ll just have to remember not to give you the option.”
“About next time.”
Black amusement skitters up my chest. No. That’s not what this is. “You’re having second thoughts?” Even as the words leave my mouth, my brain contradicts the possibility. I made her come so hard she lost the power of speech. She went to sleep at least once on my chest, her expression one of bliss.
“Well.” She pauses, conflicting emotions coming into existence in her expression before fading again. “You said yourself we should have parameters, that we should have—”
She’s in the middle of one such confliction when I lean in and kiss her. I feel her startle for a second before she sighs, and her mouth begins to work in tandem with mine. The pressure in my chest begins to dissipate. She still wants this.
“Guidelines.” Her arms slide around my neck, her words a warm whisper against my lips. Toothpaste, sugar, and coffee. Who’d want breakfast when such a feast is within reach. “Whit, are you listening?”
“Hmm.” With this woman in my arms, serotonin and dopamine flooding my system? Probably not.
“Whit.” Her hands slide into my hair where they tighten, the pleasure/pain dichotomy pulling a growl from my throat. “Are you paying attention?” Her hands move to my face, my lips pulling from hers in small increments.
“To you. Always.” Since she arrived, thoughts of her have dominated my waking hours. “I know you were talking.” My voice sounds rough as I press my hand over hers where it rests on my sandpapery cheek. I rub like a cat demanding attention. “That’s why I kissed you.”
“Because you didn’t want to listen?”
“Because I was watching the way your lips move.” I close the space between us, my mouth a teasing slide against hers. “I can’t seem to resist your mouth.”
“You managed pretty well up until yesterday.” She sighs as I bury my nose between her shoulder and neck, inhaling the scent of woman and skin, wanting to touch her everywhere, pull her apart and see what makes her tick. I slide my lips up her throat and press my teeth to her erratic pulse.
“Oh God.” Her whisper sounds like submission. “Oh God.” And that one not quite so much.
“What is it?” I pull back, my hands clamped once more to her hips.
“I think we need to talk.”
I inhale though my teeth. “Now, there’s a passion killer.”
“Postponer, maybe.” Her frown says otherwise. “We need to talk about last night.”
“I thought we’d covered last night last night.” At length.
“We agreed this would be temporary,” she says carefully.
“Yes,” I say, using her serious tone. Those words seem to have been said long ago now, but yes, temporary was—is—the plan.
“You said you’d give me what I want.”
A faintly wicked feeling smile creeps across my mouth. “I did, didn’t I?” As my fingers tighten, she clamps her hands over my wrists.
“The experiences I want,” she qualifies.
“And probably some you don’t realize you want.”
“But it can only be sex, though, right?”
It’s never just sex. The thought rises unbidden, but I push it away. I’ve been fucking women without the entanglement of relationships since my late twenties. It’s worked out okay so far. “That’s what we agreed. Are you having doubts about that?” And if she is, how I’d feel about that prospect feels like quietly pleased.
“Well,” she begins hesitantly, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I want more.” I don’t know about the wrong way but I don’t quite how to take that. I’m even more confused when she adds, “Please don’t look at me like I just murdered your puppy. I’m not asking you to put a ring on it.”
Cock ring? my ridiculous mind supplies now.
“…because that’s not the kind of more I’m looking for.”