Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
He laughs, except I don’t laugh back. Because I’m not kidding.
Whatever this man is into, me too. I’m into it. I’ll try it. I’m ninety-seven percent certain I’ll like it, if it involves both of us being naked.
Suddenly, he stops laughing.
“So, you imagined kissing me,” he says, his voice low and thick. “Do you imagine doing other things with me as well?”
Houston. We have a home run.
Chapter Eighteen
He just asked that, right?
Or have my fantasies gotten so completely out of control that I’m mixing them in with reality?
Because it doesn’t seem possible that Governor Russo—the actual fucking governor, he of the world’s sexiest press conferences—just asked what I think he asked.
“What?” I say, practically purring, but desperately wanting him to repeat himself.
“I asked,” he begins, then walks closer—once he’s closed the distance between us he leans over, one hand braced on the back of the couch, his face a mere foot from mine—“what else you imagined doing with me.”
“Besides the kissing?” His tie is dangling between us. I could use it to topple him on top of me right now.
“Besides the kissing,” he reiterates, the hint of a smile playing at his lips as he leans in just a fraction closer.
“Naked things,” I admit. “I imagined a lot of activities that required nakedness. Or partial nudity. Full nudity wasn’t in all of my imaginings, some of the scenarios had us in partial states of undress. And, well, you get the drift, right?”
“You talk a lot,” he says, definitely smiling now, but he’s dipped his head another few inches closer to mine. I run his loosened tie through my fingers and tilt my head back so I can meet his gaze. Also so that my lips are lined up perfectly with his in case I decide to give the tie a tug.
“Fair enough,” I agree. “But you did ask.”
“This is probably a terrible idea,” he says, but his eyes are still on mine and they’re telling me this is a very, very good idea.
“Is it though?” I give his tie the tiniest of tugs because, God, I hope the answer is no.
“Absolutely.” He nods, but his lips are somehow even closer to mine now.
“Okay, so then… should we not?”
“We shouldn’t,” he says, but now his lips are brushing against mine, a whisper of a kiss even as he’s saying we shouldn’t.
“Well, that’s confusing—”
But I don’t get any more words out because Warren is kissing me. Really kissing me, no more teasing brushes of lips. No more debating or denying. He’s dropped to his knees in front of the couch, my own legs spread to accommodate him. He pulls me forward as he crushes his mouth to mine. This is a hungry kiss, a demanding kiss, exactly the kind of kiss that I imagined with this man.
The moan that emits from my throat is feral as his lips drop to my jaw and then to my neck, and I arch back as his hands work their way over my shoulders and down my back. He’s pulling me forward so that I’m perched on the edge of the sofa, my body flush against his. The blanket I’d been snuggled up with is bunched behind me, and there’s only the thin cotton of an old t-shirt I sleep in between us.
Well, and his suit. Which is a problem.
I need to see this man without a shirt if we’re going to get to the naked things.
Not want to. Need to.
This seems like just the moment for some decisive action.
I snake my hand between us and push the suit jacket over his shoulders before tugging desperately at his tie. Desperately, because I want it off, not to choke him with it, and I’m not sure if I’m tightening it or loosening it in my lust-fueled haste.
He smiles, shrugging the jacket off before taking over on the tie removal. I nimbly work the buttons because I still know how to operate those. The entire time, I watch him. I watch his breath increase and his pupils dilate. I watch him swallow as I free enough buttons to slide my hand into his shirt and feel the hard plane of muscle that I’ve only been able to imagine up until now.
“Now you,” he demands once his shirt is on the floor, and God, I love it, that clear direction is sexy as hell.
Besides which, I’d do whatever he wanted. Just tell me.
I don’t have a bra on since I’m essentially in my pajamas, so I pull my shirt over my head and toss it in the direction of Warren’s clothing pile. His eyes fall to my tits and I barely have a moment to feel self-conscious about being naked with someone new or worry about lighting or flattering angles because Warren is taking me in like I’m the loveliest thing he’s ever seen.