Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
You.
But before I have time to say another awkward word, he’s gone, disappearing down the huge hall with its arches.
Now it’s just me, alone in a palatial bathroom with a head full of lewd thoughts and nerves that are way too keyed up.
Prick.
It’s for the best, I tell myself as I switch on the shower.
It’s been hard enough keeping this unprofessional arrangement respectable.
Confusing fake romance even more with very real sex would be catastrophic. No matter how tempting it is in this odd moment.
And God, is it tempting.
This isn’t how I am with men.
With safe, predictable, pre-heartstabby Liam, it was never like this.
I shake the thought off as I shimmy out of my clothes and walk under the delightfully powerful warm spray.
It feels like half my woes steam away in minutes, swirling away down the drain with the day’s grime. I groan, feeling the pounding hot water in my hair, spattering my shoulders like a ghostly reassuring touch.
Tomorrow will be better.
Tomorrow, we’ll figure out a saner, stable, longer-lasting arrangement that doesn’t involve us being constantly around each other.
Tomorrow, I’ll behave like a reasonable person whose fantasies don’t involve a man who’s paying me mad money to not confuse cruel kisses with honest feelings.
I take my sweet time in the shower. Since I’ve been forced into this luxurious bathroom, I’m going to enjoy it.
When I finally emerge, steam billows up to the ceiling. The heated floors make me wonder if I died in that flood and this is heaven.
Then the door clicks open.
I might have showered, but Dexter Rory hasn’t.
He’s still wearing the same smudged, sweaty shirt, though it’s drier now, his hair still damp from the disaster at my apartment.
I, on the other hand, am as naked as the day I was born.
Full frontal X-rated movie naked.
“Junie,” he whispers, his raspy voice throbbing warmth to my core. I resist the temptation to press my legs together. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll go. Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll never bother you again.”
My lips are sealed.
His eyes rake me from head to toe, drinking me in. He’s like a human panther assessing its prey and liking what he sees.
He’s so not wrong.
Oh God, he knows.
He knows and he wants me.
“Come here,” I whisper, already trembling.
His nostrils flare as he steps forward, almost like he can smell me.
I step up to him and we collide in the middle of the bathroom, gliding into each other’s arms in front of the foggy mirror.
Growling, he throws the towel in my hand over my shoulder.
His mouth impacts mine like a man possessed.
His hand greedily reaches down, pushing between my legs.
When his thumb finds my clit and stops, smothering me in a vicious tease, I’m gone.
My teeth sink into his bottom lip and a loud moan rips out of my throat.
It’s everything we tasted before but so much more.
And this time, I’m one hundred percent sober, only intoxicated on Dexter Rory and the way he groans against my tongue.
“Fucking shit, Sweet Stuff,” he breathes into my ear when he breaks away. “I’d better ruin you before you level me.”
And his lips are back, hot and claiming, hellbent on burning me down.
This isn’t a mistake anymore and it’s definitely not for show.
His fingers thread in my hair, finding their way to the back of my head so he can tip my face back with a pull, the better to delve his tongue in deeper.
I’m melting like flipping caramel.
My legs shift and I offer myself up to him, teasing him with my tongue until he gives back another groan. In the fierceness of his kiss, I lose every doubt.
I forget about pretend.
I forget my insecurities.
I forget that he’s a man so vastly outside my reach that this wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for a big reckless lie.
I think I even forget my own name.
All I know is him. Him.
The way he smells like teakwood and expensive leather and something else I can’t pin down that makes every inch of my skin bristle.
His free hand grips my waist, fingers tightening, until he reaches up and trails a path of heat around my breast.
His thumb starts stroking circles while his fingers graze my pussy, taunting me to make him stop.
I can’t.
I won’t.
I’ve never wanted anyone to touch me like he does now.
It’s a visceral thing, this forceful want.
So intense it fills me with a courage I’ve never had, guiding my hands up so I can rake my fingers up his shirt and over his abs.
Jesus, his abs.
They’re a sculpted masterpiece, granite ridges and valleys screaming raw power. Inhaling sharply, I’m hit with an image of what a body like his can do to me, princely and wild in all the right ways that feel so wrong. So delectable.
I fumble with the buttons on his shirt, my fingers shaking and eager.