Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 192134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 961(@200wpm)___ 769(@250wpm)___ 640(@300wpm)
“No!” she gasps. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. My friend Luna was going to get one for her wife, but the rescue group said they can’t adopt them to city-dwellers.”
We talk some more, and I find myself enjoying this phone call more than I ever expected to when I picked up the phone . . .
. . . an hour ago.
We just passed an hour, chatting about everything and nothing, and this very well might be my favorite hour so far today.
“Thanks for your thoughts on the new line,” I say as we sign off, both agreeing it’s time to head for bed so we can get up and conquer the world tomorrow. “They were helpful. I’m going to mull them over with Brian tomorrow.”
“My pleasure,” she murmurs in a husky, sleepy voice that makes me wish I were there to tuck her in—and to get a jump start on the pleasure I have planned for lesson two.
“Sleep tight, sexy,” I say. “I’ll be dreaming about all the things I’m going to do to your body.”
Her breath rushes out. “Me too. Not even scary clowns will be able to keep those dreams away.”
“Good.” I hang up with a grin and another hard-on. Because that’s what this woman does to me. It’s almost embarrassing, but that’s not going to stop me from bringing my thoughts of CJ into bed with me tonight and taking things . . . ahem . . . in hand one more time.
Three times in one day—I haven’t been this determined with my self-love since I was a teenager.
I’m not sure what my sexy little virgin is doing to my libido, but I don’t want it to stop. Not any time soon.
But as I glance at my phone one last time before bed, the date stares at me. We didn’t even have a lesson tonight, and already our seven days of seduction is now down to five.
10
CJ
There’s something wrong, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“You’re sure this is the exact same design as the mock-up you sent over yesterday?” I tilt my head to one side, squinting at the printout of the ad Chloe is going to run on social media as soon as I give it the thumbs-up.
Usually, I can spot the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit in sixty seconds or less, but my instincts are dull today. I would blame chatting late with Graham, but it wasn’t the chat that was the problem. It’s the hours I lay awake afterward replaying every kiss, every touch, every word he spoke to me at Patio West, and imagining all the things we might get up to together tonight.
Sexy things. Erotic things. Exciting, exhilarating, life-changingly amazing things that had me up until way past midnight giving Sparky the Wonder Vibrator a workout he hasn’t seen in months.
All I want to do is replay Graham and CJ’s Greatest Hits over and over until my brain turns to mush—but focus must be achieved.
I have three thousand up-cycled, vintage hardcover-books-turned-adorable-purses in my warehouse in Georgia, already wrapped in tissue paper and ready to ship. I need to get them out into the world to make room for the typewriter-key earrings my production team is hard at work on for next season.
The purses must be advertised and sold. I must get this ad exactly right. And I must stop thinking about sex for at least the next five to ten minutes.
“Is her dress a different color?” I ask, shaking my head as the backs of my eyes begin to ache.
“No, the dress is the same.” Chloe crosses her arms over her chest as she perches on my desk beside me. I sit on my desk more than I sit behind it. I’ve always been the kind of person who thinks better on her feet. “I did tweak the background filter the tiniest bit, but—”
“That’s it.” I snap my fingers, pointing at the sky behind the model’s head. Thank God, I haven’t lost it—yet. “The new shade of yellow is making her skin look sallow, and that’s throwing the rest of the color scheme off just a hair.”
“I thought it made the purse pop.” Chloe hums beneath her breath. “But you’re right. She looks like she has food poisoning. Sorry about that. Maybe my monitor needs to be recalibrated.”
I wave a hand. “No worries. Let’s just shift it back and take another look.”
Chloe accepts the printout but doesn’t move from her perch. “Totally. I’ll get right on that as soon as you serve up the gossip. And I want every detail, Murphy. I’ve given you almost forty-eight hours alone with your dirty little secrets. Now, it’s dish time.”
“Who says I have dirty secrets?” I circle back behind my desk to mark “meet with Chloe” off my list—the only thing more fun than making lists is marking things off them.