Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“No one charms Wren. She’s too smart for that and will see right through your bullshit.”
“She’s also right here, watching you two measure your dicks like that’ll decide something when it most definitely won’t. You, read over that clause again.” She points at Oliver. “You, come with me.” That one was to me.
Wren stands, and I realize she doesn’t have on shoes, probably having kicked them off under the table after the long day. She passes Oliver on her way to the door, and he makes it a point to look at her ass in her tailored slacks and shoot me a grin, knowing I can’t do anything about it without pissing Wren off further. But he doesn’t know me that well.
“Fuckin’ asshole,” I growl, stepping closer to the table, dropping the bag of food, and rearing back for a perfect punch.
Unfortunately, Wren steps in my way to stop me. But not before the smile melted from Oliver’s face and he scooted back from the table quickly, damn near running from me. “Crazy bastard,” he mutters.
But we both know who won that nonfight. Only one of us backed down, and it sure as shit wasn’t me.
I hold an arm out in invitation for Wren to leave first, keeping my eyes on Oliver. Before I turn to follow her in her barefooted steps, I pause for one quick second . . . just long enough to leave a little present behind. I send a silent vow of thanks to Tayvious for the greasy fries earlier, because they allow me to crop dust Oliver and then leave him to stew in it.
I can hear him coughing as I follow Wren into her office and can’t help but feel a little victorious. Is it immature? Yes. Do I give a fuck? Absolutely not.
I close the door behind me, preparing for Wren’s wrath. I deserve it. I interrupted her work, I didn’t trust her, and I probably jeopardized the contract. “Give it to me,” I tell her. “All you got.”
She stares at me, her green eyes deep and unreadable for two seconds, and then she launches herself at me so hard and fast that my back slams into the door. I catch her ass in my palms as her legs wrap around my waist and her arms go around my neck. Burying her face in my neck, she whispers, “I’ve missed you so much.”
Well, hell, seems like I’m not the only one who was feeling lonely with all this work keeping us apart.
I grip her ass a bit tighter, and fight to find her mouth as she squeezes me tight. “I missed you too,” I say between kisses. “I texted you, but you didn’t respond.”
She nips at my lip playfully. “Too busy. Contract.” Her explanation is choppy, but given the way she’s kissing me back, I don’t mind a bit. “You brought me food?”
Huh, guess Roscoe wasn’t wrong about that. Even if there’s no caffeine or chocolate. But I know Wren, and chili is one of her love languages. “Yeah, knew you’d need it,” I explain as I lay a trail of kisses down her neck to the point where it joins her shoulder. I lick in the tiny hollow there, and she shudders.
“You’re jealous because I’m working with Oliver?” she asks, her hands shoved into my hair and nails scratching my scalp deliciously. She also doesn’t make jealous sound as bad as Oliver did. In fact, Wren sounds . . . turned on?
“Fuck yeah, I’m jealous. He’s getting your time, and I want some of it. Some of you. Because you’re mine, Wren.” The possessive claim is growled against her skin as I squeeze her tightly and bury my nose in her hair. I let my teeth graze over the sensitive skin of her neck, and she moans, deep and throaty.
I whirl, pinning her against the door for another kiss. I try to use it as leverage so I can get one hand between us, but Wren wiggles to get down. I let her feet touch the floor, and she drops even lower, sitting on her shins on the cold floor. “Wren?”
But she doesn’t answer, at least not aloud. But her hands are doing plenty of talking as they brush over my thick cock. The zipper of my jeans is uncomfortably tight, and when Wren releases the button, the zipper shoots down on its own. I sigh in relief, but immediately groan when her hands cup me and she brushes over the top of my cock through my underwear.
“You’re already leaking,” she whispers, grinning up at me.
“Fuck yeah, I am. I’ve been leaking for days, wanting you. This bitchy mouth, your tiny hand, that tight pussy.” I run my thumb over her bottom lip roughly, smearing whatever lipstick she had left from the day.