Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
He closes the tiny gap separating our lips, the berries barely disguising the deliciousness just beneath that is all him. His tongue, his lips, his mouth. So sweet. So addictive. I want much more. I’m throbbing between my legs for him. I’m soaking through my panties for him. I’m falling apart inside for him, and it’s the merest brush of our lips. The softest tangle of our tongues. Imagine how wonderfully devastated I’ll be when he fully unleashes himself on me.
Voices in the foyer burst our bubble, the one our kisses fashioned around us.
“Damn,” Trevor mutters against my lips. “Harold and Henri are home.”
I smile, easing forward again to nip his bottom lip. His groan vibrates against my lips.
“And if they hadn’t come home”—I pull back, lifting one challenging brow—“what would you have done, Bishop?”
“You mean what will I do, don’t you?” He cups my head, threading his fingers into the long tresses falling around my neck. “There’s still the ride home.”
These panties are done. I hate that I’m seeing Harold again and meeting Trevor’s assistant for the first time in sopping wet panties and a giant college T-shirt, but I’ve made worse first impressions.
Henri’s a neat little thing, and by the way her eyes go all judgmental when they meet mine, she’s not a fan. She and I would be at opposite ends of the pole, for sure, but the easy and obvious affection between her and Trevor softens my attitude. She’s probably just protective of him. I like him too much to hold that against her.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Baston.” She peruses my long, bare legs. I refuse to explain or feel at a disadvantage.
“Likewise, Henri.” I shake her hand like I’m dressed to walk the runway. “I hear you hold things together around here.”
Her face softens only a little. She’s not one to be flattered out of her preconceived notions. I’ll have to prove her wrong. I usually can’t be bothered convincing people I’m anything other than what they expect, but for her, for Trevor really, I might make an exception.
After we’ve said our good nights to Harold and Henri, and I’m back in my dress and we’re in the backseat of the car, heading to my apartment, my stomach twists and turns, flips and flops, like this is the end of my first date. Like I’m not sure I’ll be ready for my first kiss.
“Thank you for riding back with me,” I venture into the quiet of the car as we speed through the night, the East River glimmering through the window.
“You knew I would.” He slides across the seat until our bodies are flush. “How else could I collect my good night kiss?”
“Oh, you want a kiss?” I smile, my lips tingling with anticipation, full and throbbing and waiting for him.
“I want a lot more than a kiss, Sofie,” he breathes over my lips. “But we’ll stay there for now.”
I glance at the privacy window, closed and sealing the driver out.
“This legendary self-control of yours.” I shake my head, locking our eyes together. “I’m not sure I like it.”
“Believe me, you’re testing it.”
He slips one hand up into my hair, drawing me toward him until our lips touch, burning up all control. Restraint falls away, unshackling the desire we’ve held at bay all night. His tongue is so deep I can barely breathe, and I love it. The impossible choice of breathing or having more of him. I pull air through my nose, determined I won’t give up even for a second the sweet, hot melding of our mouths.
He caresses my thigh, pushing up my dress and cupping my ass. My answering touch, over the strong pecs and the tight muscles of his stomach and then the broad back, elicits a groan.
“Touch me, Sof.”
Don’t have to ask me twice.
My hands relish the brawny beauty of his body. The wide shoulders and thickly corded arms beneath his sweater. I slide my palms over the warm, smooth skin of his back, raking it lightly with my nails. He tugs at the neckline of my dress until it falls away, baring one nipple. He just looks at me in the dim light of the car, barely illuminated by the city lights rushing past.
“My imagination did you no justice.” He runs one thumb over my nipple. It goes painfully tight and I press my eyes closed. I can’t take it. If he doesn’t take me in his mouth, I’ll die.
But then he does.
He licks the pink-ringed areola, sampling me before his mouth consumes the whole, waiting bud. I thought I’d die if he didn’t taste me, and I’m sure I’ll die now that he has. The pleasure washes over me like a flood, covering me from head to toe. Soaking me. Drowning me. Just as I’m sure I’ll go under, the car comes to a halt in front of my building.