Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
I guide her from the shower and dry her off, wrapping her up, snug and cozy in a towel. “All done.”
I see her eyes roam the vast planes of my torso, see her delight. Irresistible. She finds me irresistible. Taking her hand, I lead her into the bedroom. I find my jeans and tug them on, depriving her. Increasing her want.
“No boxers?” she asks.
I’m careful as I fasten the fly, smiling. “No, I don’t want any unnecessary obstructions.”
“Obstructions?”
I yank a T-shirt over my head, feeling her burning gaze all over my front. Yeah, I’m a tad older. But in incredible shape. “Yes, obstructions,” I say as I tug it down my body, watching in amusement as she tries to get her lax jaw under control. She’s adorable. I walk over and take her neck, pulling her close, aware I’m being unfair. And I’m not sorry. “Get ready,” I murmur lowly, sealing our mouths.
“Where’s my dress?”
“I don’t know,” I say before I can stop myself, my mind working overtime. Use it as a bargaining chip. Ammo. I nod to myself as I stride out of my room. I’m all for give and take.
I make it to the kitchen and find my peanut butter, settling at the island and thinking while dipping, mentally making our plans. I haven’t told her she’s technically working today. How will that go down? I pull my finger from my mouth slowly, my eyes narrowing, my cunning mind off on a tangent. I’ll convince her it’s a great idea. Just watch me.
I turn on my stool when I hear her coming down the stairs, bracing myself for the vision of her naked in my kitchen. She may as well get used to it. I don’t plan on letting her wear any clothes when she’s here, and if I have my way, which I will, she’ll be here a lot.
I look up, grinning like an idiot as I suck my finger clean. She’s not naked. But she still looks like a dream in one of my dress shirts. My dick buzzes. My body calls for her. “Come here.”
Her face falls into a frown. “No.”
No? What does she mean, no? She can’t stand there like that and then refuse me. “Come . . . here,” I say slowly, my face twitching with the effort to hold back my filthy look.
“Tell me where my dress is.” She looks at me with pure defiance. It doesn’t bode well for the plans I’ve made and of which she is yet privy to. The battle to hold back that filthy look becomes too much, and I slowly rid my hands of my favorite thing, preparing to replace it with another one of my favorite things. Actually, my absolute preferred thing. She’s challenging me. Somewhere between the shower and the kitchen, she’s found her spunk. She’s trying to claw back some control. Call the shots. I thought we’d reached an understanding. Apparently not. I actually love her spirit . . . but not all the time.
Hmmmm. What to do, what to do?
I should give her a chance to rethink because one thing becoming glaringly obvious to me is that she’s more agreeable when she’s in my arms and mindless on this insane chemistry we produce. So I have to ensure she’s in my arms as much as possible. “You have three seconds,” I say, surprising myself. Yet it’s all I have, short of getting up and physically dragging her over. I need her to come to me willingly. Each time she does, it’s a brick stronger in the structure that will be us.
“Three seconds for what?”
“To get your arse over here.” Simple. Keep it simple. Simple but effective. I hope. We’ll soon find out. “Three . . .” I say quietly, my face deadpan, though on the inside I’m laughing my fucking arse off. Not at her. At me. The fucking countdown?
“What happens if you make it to zero?” she asks, her face a picture of uncertainty.
I eradicate that sass and defiance you’ve found with a reminder of how good we are together, that’s what. “Do you want to find out?” I ask, because I’m more than willing to show her. “Two . . .”
She’s shifting from foot to foot, her eyes darting. Come to me. Don’t come to me. Either way, she will be in my arms in . . .
“One . . .”
She shoots across the kitchen fast, and I welcome her with an open embrace, of course, deeply satisfied. She’s learning well. My body relaxes immediately, and I rest my head on hers as she strokes my back. See? Perfect. Why ever would she play silly games and starve us of this? And speaking of starving us, has she remembered what she told me last night? I pout to myself. It doesn’t hurt to ask.