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)
“I don’t think I’m ruining it.”
“You are. This is actual real torture, the sort that makes people go mad.”
“You’re already mad, so we don’t have a problem there.”
“Oh, ha. You are one of the funniest blokes I’ve ever met. Remind me to put that in my diary alongside the entry where I write about how you won’t sleep with me because you’re worried I’m too fragile. Dear Diary, me again, the loneliest girl in New York—the one who hasn’t had a man between her legs in nearly a century.”
“A century, huh?”
“Feels that way sometimes.”
“Do you really keep a diary?”
“No! Can you imagine?! The entries would be crude, to say the least. I couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands. Tomorrow, if I died and the police went round to my flat to round up my things, one of them would find that diary and think I’m the perviest perv he’s ever met. He’d think, Jeez, this poor girl. If only her boyfriend had given her a proper lay, she wouldn’t have died in that horrific ice cream accident.”
“Ice cream accident?”
“Yes. Kat once dragged me with her to a psychic, and the lady sort of hinted that I should stay away from soft serve. At least…I think that’s what she said. Her accent was quite thick. Ever since then, I’ve been very careful around the stuff so as to prevent my death. What are you doing unbuttoning my jeans like that for?”
“I’m trying to get you out of them.”
“Well you’ve already taken off my blouse, and I was joking about the nun’s habit. I didn’t think I needed to point that out, but well, I suppose men can be quite dim sometimes.”
“Step out,” he says, before tugging the denim material off my legs.
I’m standing in my knickers and my bra in his foyer, and he’s already starting to undress himself. His tuxedo jacket goes first, strewn on the floor beside us. Then he goes after his cufflinks.
“Is this some kind of a cruel joke?” I ask, propping my hands on my hips. “Let me see the goods but not taste them sort of thing?”
“If you’d stop talking for five seconds, you would understand that I’m giving in. You’re getting your way.”
He unbuttons his shirt and lets it drop onto his jacket. His blessedly tan and toned chest is just there, right in front of me, like one of those neon signs on the Vegas strip. I’m a sad little gnat drawn right to it. My hands reach out and I smooth my palms over the rigid planes.
“You’re going to do me?” I sound more than slightly amazed by the prospect.
“Could you not say it like that?”
“Oh right. Are we going to make love? I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”
He laughs and shakes his head then he reaches down, no pretense, no proper warning, and kisses me full-on. His mouth is so good at getting what it wants. I shut right up and let him continue the kiss. My insides turn into jelly, and that’s okay because Logan reaches out to grab hold of me and we do this perfectly synchronized move where he lifts and I wrap my legs around his waist. He’s so bloody strong I don’t even worry about him dropping me. I guess his career in football is good for something.
I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss, letting my tongue touch his. He moans into my mouth and his hands find my butt and he grips like he’s angry with it—angry with me! This isn’t my fault! He’s the one with that body. What am I supposed to do, not jump his bones? Too late. My ankles hook behind his back, and I’m attached to him like a barnacle. He’ll have to get an ice pick to scrape me off him.
He starts to move us into the living room. We bump into a wall and then a lamp. It crashes to the ground and I’m laughing, but he doesn’t seem to care at all. Once we reach the sofa, he lets go of me, and I sort of fall with an audible oomph. He hovers over me like an animal who’s just successfully brought his prey back to his lair. He peruses me from head to toe, taking in my chest and the delicate lace of my bra, down over my stomach and then lower, between my legs. My knickers are a bit askew thanks to his hands, but it’s not like I have time to adjust them. He bends down, takes the straps between his fingers, and tugs.
Down they go, over my knees, and then they’re at my ankles. Tug. Rip. Gone.
He takes my thighs in his big hands and he splits them apart. No asking. No eye contact or confirmation that I’m not dying a thousand deaths here. He just peels me apart and then he licks his lips.