Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
My lips ripped from his as the whimpers escaped me.
“Don’t stop,” I begged, hips rocking against his touch as his thumb circled and his fingers thrust.
“Not until you’re fucking screaming my name,” he agreed.
But then, right fucking then, there was the sound of the stairwell door somewhere above us slamming closed.
Moving on instinct, my hands slammed into his shoulders, pushing him back as my cheeks flamed at the idea of getting caught with someone’s hands down my pants in a stairwell.
August didn’t object, just pulled his hands out of my pants, and watched me with heart-stuttering eye contact as he slipped his fingers into his mouth, tasting me.
Steps were getting closer as they descended, and I seemed to snap out of it long enough to push past him, and start to rush down the steps myself, not pausing even as my heart started to pound and a fine bead of perspiration met my hairline.
I had to get some distance.
Because some part of me wanted to rush back up to him, grab him by that tie of his, drag him back upstairs, and demand he fuck me up against every surface of that fancy-ass hotel room.
And that, yeah, that would be a terrible idea.
The problem was, I was sometimes drawn to those.
The cool air of the lobby seemed to snap some sense back into my overheated system as I waited for August to appear at my side.
“You’re gonna have to point me in the direction of the grocery store,” he said, tone calm as can be. Like he couldn’t still taste me on his tongue, like I couldn’t still feel his fingers inside of me.
“Right,” I agreed, following him outside where we waited for his car to be brought around, then climbed inside in what could only be described as awkward silence. Uncomfortable enough for me to reach for the dial on the radio, turning it up until some classic seventies music filled the car as I gave him the occasional directions to the grocery store.
Glad for the distraction, I grabbed a cart, and started filling it with the shit I knew the halfway house was always in need of. Paper products, cleaning supplies, shampoo, conditioner, soap, and deodorant.
“We’ll need to stop here again before the soup kitchen,” I said, the first words that weren’t directions either of us spoke since the lobby.
“Looks like it,” he agreed as he brushed me out of the way, so he could load up the belt, then paid for the supplies himself.
Maybe I should have objected.
But he was donating it to a charity.
And he clearly had the money.
“Go sit,” he demanded as we got to the car, and I reached open the trunk.
“I can load a trunk,” I said, reaching for the twelve-pack of paper towels under the cart, only to have him try to yank it from my hands.
“Sure you can. But you’re not going to. So go sit.”
“I’m not your dog, August. You don’t bark sit commands at me,” I said, pulling the paper towels.
“Are we really fighting over paper towels in a grocery store parking lot?” he asked, sounding a mix of amused and frustrated.
“No, we’re fighting over you barking demands at me like I’m actually going to follow them,” I said, but I let go of the paper towels because we did look pretty fucking ridiculous tugging the pack back and forth.
“I always—“
“I’m sure you do. And now you’re not,” he said, grabbing one of the bags, and putting it in the trunk. When I crossed my arms and glared at him, he sighed as he grabbed another bag. “It’s how I was raised,” he said. “Ma always did a lot for us, so when we were with her, we did all the heavy lifting.”
“Oh,” I said, arms falling. “Okay then. You could have just said that instead of barking orders at me,” I said, making my way toward the passenger side.
“Hey, snookums,” he called, making me turn back with slitted eyes.
“I swear if you insult me one more—“
“Can’t fucking stop thinking about the taste of you,” he said, effectively stealing all thought from my head and words from my mouth.
While he just smirked as he slammed the trunk, then walked the cart back to the return.
For the rest of the day, he kept his hands and sexy comments to himself.
Which I was glad for.
Or, you know, so I was telling myself.
While my body spun a completely different tale.
The whole drive back to the hotel, I felt like I was buzzing, like that naughty little part of me was imagining us being able to sneak into my bed, and fuck this sensual tension right out of our systems.
We said nothing, though, as we walked into the lobby. I tried to veer off to the stairs, but August grabbed my hand at the last possible moment, and pulled me into the open elevator doors.