Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Move away from the library and take that terrorist bucket with you.
But I don’t want to. Btw, can you explain this?
I circle a line in the book in red without even reading it, underline andor highlight a few others, then dog-ear the page for good measure. Satisfied with my handiwork, I snap a picture and then send it over.
He doesn’t reply for one long minute. I believe I gave him a heart attack.
Fun.
I should’ve played on his organized-freak tendencies before. No wonder he placed a whole room separator between my side of the library and his. In hindsight, he should’ve built a wall.
Hellooo. You still there?
Perfectly am, but you won’t be once I’m finished with you.
Oh, please. I’m just asking for help innocently.
There’s nothing innocent about you. What’s the reason behind this tantrum?
I’m just reading ever so quietly.
Chaotically is more like it.
You’re right, there’s no quietness involved. I have screaming metal on. Our neighbors would’ve reported me to the police if not for the soundproofing system. Sam has evacuated most of the staff from the premises, so it’s only me and your books. No one will save them from my rigorous highlighting system. What a shame.
I send more marked pictures, but this time, he doesn’t reply.
He’s no fun.
Just when I think I’ve figured out a way to mess with him, he effortlessly shuts me down.
My level of frustration mounts to dangerous heights, so I grab a bodice ripper novel from my prized collection, then lie back down on my stomach in the middle of his pretentious books.
They could use an introduction to better and less snobbish literature, if you ask me.
Lifting my legs in the air, I cross them at the ankles and get lost in the world of a rake duke with questionable morals as I consume more candy floss than should be allowed.
This is unfair. Why are men better in fiction?
Petition to transform the entire male population into men written by women. Please and thank you.
“What in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?”
I hate the tinge of excitement that rushes through me at his deep, refined, and suspiciously calm voice.
This shit is really good if it managed to keep me from noticing his arrival.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m reading,” I say without acknowledging his presence.
“And you couldn’t do that in more decent clothes?”
I glance at him over my shoulder and kind of regret it because, apparently, I’ve forgotten just how illegally dazzling my husband is.
Clad in a navy-blue suit with a hand in his pocket, he looks straight off of a fashion runway despite being at the office all day.
I let my gaze roam over him shamelessly. Slick jet-black hair, frosty eyes, stone-cold face, and pursed lips…
I pause. There’s a cut on his lower lip that’s big enough to stand out.
“What are you wearing?” he asks.
I sigh. “Max Mara. Seriously, since when are you so interested in my dresses’ designers?”
“Since they’re not decent.”
“They’re decent enough.”
“Enough to show the crack of your arse.”
I glance over my shoulder, and, yup, the edge of my lace underwear is visible all right.
My cheeks heat but I shrug. “Didn’t realize we’re entertaining the king. I’m on my own, relax.”
“And if a staff member walked in?”
“Then they’d have something fun to remember me by.”
I twirl the fluffy strands of candy floss around my fingers, bringing them to my mouth and sensually sucking on them. The sugar explodes on my tongue, but it's not just the sweetness that sends a rush of endorphins through me.
His eyes darken to a molten gray as they zero in on my hand.
I’m aware this is a dangerous strategy when I also want him, but I have to disarm him somehow. And if seduction is the only way, then I'll gladly play the game.
When I trace my tongue around my middle and index fingers suggestively, his nostrils flare and his jaw tenses. I take it further, deep-throating my fingers and sucking and licking them with fervor, mimicking what I did to him just the other day.
Although he remains still, I can feel his desire simmering beneath the smooth façcade like a fire waiting to ignite. As he casually touches his watch, I think I sense his restraint slipping away, but then he remains still.
It's frustrating how he doesn't show anything on the surface.
Like a damn psycho.
Feeling like I won’t get what I want, I slide my fingers out with a pop. “If you’re done brooding, I have a very important scene to get back to—”
One moment I’m lying there, and the next, strong hands are wrapped around my ankles. I yelp as I’m flipped over, my legs parted, and Eli slams both his hands on either side of my head.
He looms over me, his body dangerously close to mine, and I struggle to catch my breath. The air around us crackles with a charged intensity, every nerve in my body on edge. His scent fills my senses, overwhelming me with its intoxicating familiarity and drawing me in further. It's as if we’re two magnets, irresistibly pulled together by an invisible force.