Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
His words, his lips, set off a wave of internal reactions I fight hard to resist. My insides pulse and flutter, and my heart yearns for him to mold those soft lips into a kiss.
“My suggestion,” I begin, once I’ve gotten a hold of myself, “would be for you to stop wearing this.” I slide my finger under the rubber band around his wrist. Wasn’t the last one blue? This one is red. Red for warning. Red for stop. I inhale a shaky breath as I continue. “I really don’t want you to have an aversion to me.”
“How about a partiality?” His body drops briefly, and the hard length of his cock pressed against me makes my insides pulse emptily. I almost groan, rolling my lips together to prevent the sound. “How about a near-constant hard-on?”
“Yes.” I roll my bottom lip inward, my whole being suddenly parched and aching for this.
“Is this what you want, Amelia?” His hand closes on my hip, holding me tightly. “Do you want me to fuck you? Here, in the copy room? Is that what you’re here in London for?”
My gaze drops to when his hand is splayed next to mine. He has such long, elegant fingers. Square nails, a strong wrist dusted by fine, sun-kissed hair. I’m in London for so many reasons, for so many things. But most of all, I’m here for the experience.
“Which of those questions do you want me to answer?”
Behind me, he swallows audibly. I can almost sense his internal struggle, but I need him to want this the same way I do. To want me with the same intensity.
“I can get fucked anywhere, Whit.” I curl my pinky finger over his remaining thumb. “Maybe the question you should be asking is why I’m here with you.”
“Why you’re here,” he repeats, “wearing such interesting underwear.” Without moving his hand, his thumb dips to caress the back of my bare hip.
“They’re just panties.”
“They’re very brief.” The word is a low growl in my ear.
“You bought me these panties. I’m wearing them for you.” Sensing his hesitation, I hurry on. “Every year on my birthday, you send me a gift certificate. Every year since I turned eighteen, I’ve bought panties with it.” It’s the truth, or at least, part of the truth, but I can’t believe I’m sharing it.
His hand slides from the curve of my hip, down over my thigh. Regret balls in my throat before my brain connects the dots because he’s turning me…
“Whit?”
… and dropping to his knee.
“I think you should show me how generous I’ve been.” Tipping his chin, he angles his gaze my way, those tiger striations more like flames. “Go on,” he instructs. Orders. Commands. Makes my insides turn to throbbing, heated goo. “Show me what my money has been buying.”
Something sweet and sticky winds through my insides as I slide my hands over my hips, gathering my tight skirt higher in tiny increments.
“Holdups,” he murmurs as my stocking tops come into view.
“The garter belt seemed a little obvious for the office.”
His head lifts sharply. “You bought one?”
“You bought it,” I whisper, loving the intensity in his expression. “Along with a matching bra.”
“Which you don’t have on right now.” His eyes are amber, his words honey dipped. “You think I wouldn’t notice.”
“I wasn’t sure you were interested.”
“I don’t get on my knees for just anyone, Amelia.” His finger and thumb tug at the hem of my skirt. “Less talk and more action,” he adds, fingering the hem of my skirt.
His eyes watch my face as I pull the fabric the rest of the way, the thoughts of what he might do swimming through my head. I tremble. I want. I ache as I stand in the copy room with my skirt around my waist.
Whit gives a satisfied hum as his thumbs skate across my hip bones. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not afraid.” I bite my lip against telling him this moment has been twelve years in the making. Half of my life wanting him in one form or another.
“You’re very lovely,” he whispers as his big hands curve around my hips. Curve and squeeze. “And I’m probably going to hell for just looking.”
“I hope you’re not just going to look.”
Once more, he tips his gaze my way. “Are you sure that’s what you want? Here, in the copy room, where anyone might walk in?”
Very few people are left in the office this evening, but there’s always a chance. But I’m just… “I’m worried I’ll never get this chance again.”
Relief washes over my skin as he leans forward and presses his lips to my bared stomach. The touch of them against me does something beautiful and frightening to my insides. Frightening because I’m terrified this is as far as he’ll go.
“Definitely going to hell,” his low voice rumbles as his lips make a pass over the elastic waistband of my underwear. Biting, he snaps the garment against my skin.