The Mister Read online E.L. James

Categories Genre: Chick Lit, Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
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Maxim kisses her belly, her breasts, as he inches up her body and stills above her.

“That is a fantastic sound,” he whispers, and he rolls on a condom and oh, so slowly sinks into her.

* * *

When I return from the bathroom, her side of the bed is empty.

Oh.

The disappointment is real. I’m ready for more. I don’t ever think I’ll have enough of Alessia.

Judging by the gray light seeping into the room, it must be midmorning. And it’s raining. I raise the blinds, and then I hear her, so I scramble back into bed. Crockery rattling, she enters the bedroom. She’s wearing my pajama top and carrying breakfast on a tray. “Good morning again,” she says with a radiant smile, her hair flowing down over her shoulders.

“Well, hello, coffee!” The aroma is mouthwatering. I love proper coffee. I sit up, and she places the tray on my lap. Eggs. Coffee. Toast. “This is a treat.”

“You said you wanted to stay in bed.” She climbs in beside me and steals a piece of buttered toast.

“Here.” I scoop up some scrambled eggs on a fork and offer it to her. She opens her mouth, and I feed her.

“Mmm…” she says, and closes her eyes in appreciation.

My dick rouses at the sight.

Steady. Let’s eat first.

The eggs are amazing. She’s added feta cheese, I think.

“This is heaven on a plate, Alessia!”

Her cheeks pink, and she takes a sip of coffee.

“I wanted to play some music.”

“On the piano?”

“No—I mean, to listen.”

“Oh. You need a phone. Here.” I reach over and grab my iPhone.

I really must get her a phone.

“This is the code.” I punch in my security code to unlock it. “And I use this app. Sonos. You can have music anywhere in the house.” I hand it to her.

She starts flicking through the app. “You have so much music.”

“I like music.”

She shoots me a quick smile. “Me, too.”

I take a sip of coffee.

Ugh!

“How much sugar did you put in this?” I splutter.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forget you don’t have the sugar.” And she screws up her face, and I think it’s because she cannot contemplate coffee without sugar.

“Is this how you drink it?”

“In Albania? Yes.”

“I’m amazed you have any teeth left.”

She grins, showing me she has perfect teeth. “I have never tried coffee without sugar. I will make you some more.” She hops out of bed, all long naked legs and flowing raven hair.

“It’s okay. Don’t go.”

“I want to.” And she disappears once more, taking my phone with her. A few moments later, I hear Dua Lipa singing “One Kiss” over the sound system downstairs. Alessia doesn’t just like classical music. I smile….I think the artist is Albanian, too.

* * *

Alessia dances around the kitchen, preparing another coffee for Maxim. She cannot remember a time when she felt this content. She came close at times when she was dancing and singing with her mother in the kitchen in Kukës. But here there is more room to dance, and with the lights on she can see her image reflected in the glass wall that leads to the balcony. She grins; she looks so happy. It’s such a contrast to when she arrived in Cornwall.

Outside, it’s a cold and wet morning. She shimmies over to the window and stares out at the scene. The sky and sea are a dismal gray, and the wind is battering and sculpting the silvery trees that line the path to the beach, but it’s still a sight she finds magical. The surf is crashing on the shore, white-whipped and foamy, yet she can only hear the faint roar of the waves and cannot feel a draft through the glass doors. She’s impressed. The house is well built, and she’s grateful that she’s here, warm and cozy with Maxim.

The espresso machine burbles, and she sashays back across the room to make his coffee.

* * *

Maxim is still in bed, but he’s finished his breakfast and placed the tray on the floor. “There you are. I missed you,” he says when Alessia returns with fresh, unsweetened coffee. She hands him the cup, and he drains the entire contents as she gets back into bed.

“That’s better,” he says.

“You like it?”

“Very much.” He puts the coffee cup aside. “But I like you more.” He hooks his index finger over the first button of the oversize pj top that she’s wearing and tugs. The button opens, revealing the soft swell of her breast, and with his eyes burning into hers he runs his finger gently over her skin and across her nipple. Her breath catches as her nipple peaks and hardens beneath his touch.

* * *

Her lips part in a silent gasp, and her gaze is intense and inviting. My dick stirs.

“Again?” I whisper.

Will I ever have my fill of this woman?


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