Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Oh, bliss.
I think I must say that aloud because he pulls back half a centimeter to chuckle, but I don’t let him go any farther. I kiss him again—harder. I wrap my arms around his neck and bring our bodies flush together. It’s not so easy with his height, so I rise up onto my tippy toes. That’s apparently still not good enough for him because he hoists me up by the hips and plops me on the edge of the island.
My arse crunches half a bag of crisps, and now I’m laughing too hard to be kissed properly.
He groans in annoyance and grasps my chin in his hands to hold me still.
His eyes lock with mine and oof, his brown eyes are like a punch to the gut. The last of my laughter dies a swift death.
“Spread your legs,” he says, all confident, causing my insides to liquify instantly.
I do as he says then he steps between them, nestling us together like a lock and key. My dress slides up high on my thighs, revealing more of my sheer black stockings.
“Better,” he says, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the edge of my mouth.
I try to turn to land my mouth on his lips—suddenly desperate to kiss him again—but he doesn’t let me. His hands hold me perfectly still as his mouth drops down to my neck. He kisses there, just at the base of my chin where my pulse seems closest to my skin. He can feel it, I bet, hammering away as his lips move a little lower and touch my skin again. He breathes me in and my thighs want to clench together, but since he’s standing between them, they tighten around him instead. He likes that; I can tell because he rolls his hips against me, giving me a little taste of everything that could be if we took things a bit further.
When his mouth gets to the collar of my dress, he pulls back and looks down at me.
I’m breathing hard. It’s sort of embarrassing, but he’s not paying a bit of attention. His gaze is on my thighs as he pushes the material of my dress up higher until it’s right at my waist. My sheer stockings reveal a hint of my skimpy black panties. They’re nearly indecent and I’m almost tempted to yank my dress down to cover them up once again, but then Logan reaches down to trace a line along the hem. The pad of his finger runs over my stockings so the material is yet another thing used to tease me as he continues, over one thigh, down between them, and then back up.
“Black is an interesting color on you,” he says, and his voice sounds different than I’m used to.
A little scary, if I’m honest.
“Oh?”
“You with your ballet flats and your blonde hair and your freckles on your nose. I would have expected you to wear pink or white.”
“I like black,” I say, trying not to fidget under his gaze.
His eyes flit up to mine, and he grins like a villain who’s bested his nemesis.
“I do too.”
Then with a groan, he pushes off the counter, swipes a hand through his hair, and yanks the fridge open.
I’m so bereft in his absence that I nearly tip off the side of the island before catching myself.
“Where’ve you gone?” I ask, aware that my bottom lip is jutting out a bit.
I thought we were onto something. I thought he was feeling everything I was.
“To get ahold of my sanity,” he says, reaching in to grab a package of lunch meat. “I haven’t eaten since lunch, and I planned to ask if you were hungry. I was going to make you dinner.”
He retrieves more sandwich supplies then carries them over to the island to set them down beside me after he shoves aside some snack food bags. When his gaze falls between my open thighs, I slam them shut again.
His eyes narrow as he sucks in a deep breath and refocuses on the task at hand.
“So we’re going to eat dinner?” I squeak.
“Yes. I’m going to make you a sandwich.”
“So chic.”
The glare he shoots me warns me that he’d like to punish me for my impertinence. Oh! Please do!
“You could just drape some ham on me and eat it off?” I suggest, liking this game we’re playing where he pretends to be serious and I persuade him otherwise.
He squeezes his eyes shut then casts his gaze heavenward as if looking for some divine help with dealing with me.
“Just stay put right where you are, will you?”
“Sure thing,” I say, chipper as a Girl Scout.
I stay up on the counter, helping him construct sandwiches for us to eat. We load them up with cheese and avocado and tomato and lettuce. By the time we’re done, his is so massive I doubt he’ll be able to fit it into his mouth at one time.