Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
But my body continues to deprioritize all that. Last night, I climbed into bed to find Anna curled up on her side, already asleep. She’d been wearing one of those absurd excuses for pajamas that her friend Vivi packed for her—tiny satin straps on her camisole, shorts barely covering her ass—but as I’d pulled back the sheets, I hadn’t been transfixed by her body, but by that stupid tan line. I wanted to slide in behind her, press my hips against the soft curve of her ass, draw that strap off her shoulder, and suck at the skin there. That tan line that feels, strangely, like it belongs to me.
And somehow, I ended up with my fingers all over it today without even realizing.
This is the exact brand of thought that I cannot have, but with it back at the forefront, my mind wanders to the feel of her lips gasping open just now when she felt my cock pressed against her chest, of her small, soft tongue licking at mine, so paradoxically gentle while her sharp nails dug a path of fire around my rib cage and up my back. The bite of her teeth on my neck, the bright sting of those nails… I wanted more, and harder. It shook me how she could pay such close attention to learn, so quickly, what I like.
I reach forward, shutting off the water, squeezing my eyes closed as the cool droplets run from my hair and down my face. I’ve hired Anna for a job. Like she said: I just remind myself I’m here doing a job. For all intents and purposes, she is my employee, and it’s enough that she’s having to deal with my family. It’s enough that she’s forming emotional connections to my niece. I cannot let this turn sexual and risk her getting hurt in other ways.
Unfortunately, the sight of the hickey on my neck in the mirror sends renewed heat across my skin. I carefully lather the shaving cream, drawing the razor slowly over my jaw, remembering the shock of her bite, the slow, searing burn of her mouth sucking at my throat. I give myself to the count of ten to imagine the way I would take her, languid and teasing at first, kissing and licking all of her sweet, aching places, and then hard and fast, pinning her beneath me, ruthless, leaving her eagerly, feverishly clawing at my skin.
That’s it, I tell my reflection as I pat my face dry. That will live only in your imagination. You can kiss when you need to, for show. Not like that. Never like that again.
I have bigger things to focus on.
Out on the balcony, I expect to find Anna back at work on her sketches, but instead there’s a note:
Going snorkeling with Reagan! See you later.
I blow out a breath, saying, “Thank fuck,” aloud even though a betraying twinge of disappointment snakes through me. And the feeling darkens when I glance at my watch and realize that in five minutes, I have to meet the groomsmen—including both fathers—for the suit fittings.
* * *
CHARLIE HAS CHOSEN CREAM linen for the groomsmen, and I trust that she knows what she’s doing, because in this heat and humidity, I suspect it will be only a half hour before the wedding party looks like a collection of wadded-up newspaper.
But there’s food and drinks and a mostly great group of guys. We’re in the groom’s prep room, a wide, bright space where a few tailors have set up for the day. My father and Alex aside, Kellan and his best friend, Nate, are hilarious together. Add in Jake, and the room gets loud with overlapping accent impressions, stories of Kellan’s pre-Charlie mistakes in romance, marital predictions that I probably don’t want to hear, and laughter.
“How are the toasts coming?” Kellan asks. The Weston brothers have each been tasked with a short speech at the wedding. Alex will probably use his time to kiss Dad’s ass. My speech will be thoughtful, sentimental, and most importantly, short.
Jake is the wild card. Given the way he was expected to be either charming or invisible as a child, my baby brother never misses an opportunity to be the center of attention in a crowd, and standing on a wooden pedestal at the front of the room is his time to shine.
“Oh, I have mine ready,” he says, grinning at his reflection. The tailor continues to move around him, pinning and measuring, but Jake will not be deterred. “I thought I’d start with something like, ‘When I was four years old, our mom said we were getting a present. The best, most exciting present ever. When it turned out Mom didn’t mean we were getting a dog, I took Charlie to the neighbor’s house and offered to trade.’ ”