Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 155903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
“That’s what you just said. That you’re sore from having sex with your friend’s husband.”
Her mouth dropped open. He resisted the urge to get up and do something with that luscious mouth. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted to shut it, kiss it, or fuck it.
This wasn’t good.
You need to get this girl out of your life. The longer she’s in it, the more obsessed you’re becoming.
“Gardening,” she managed to choke out. “We were gardening.”
Gardening? Was that code for something else?
He watched her closely. “Gardening?”
“Yes. Really. God, I’d never have sex with Eric.” She wrinkled her nose, as though she’d smelled something rotten.
It was adorable.
No! No, not adorable.
He did not find this naive, ridiculous, frustrating woman adorable.
No.
“Next time, don’t overdo it,” he ordered, annoyed that she was moving around like she was in pain.
This Eric shouldn’t have let her push herself too hard. If she was going to be in pain from anything, it would be because she’d gone over his knee.
Fuck.
He needed to stop. He could not put her over his knee and spank her ass—not even when she’d lost the file he needed.
“Now, explain where the Stark file is,” he demanded.
“Oh, that’s under G.”
“Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be? Not S for Stark. Why is it under G?” he asked.
“For gambling. Sorry, Stark would make more sense. I’ll move it.”
“I’ll move it. You did some research?” He clicked on the file, surprised to find it filled with reports and articles.
“Yes, sir.”
Don’t call me sir.
His dick liked it way too much.
“I even looked into Mr. and Mrs. Stark. Not much to find. Everything seems clean and on the up and up.”
“Good. You can go.”
“SOS,” she muttered so quietly that he was sure she didn’t think he could hear. Was she calling for help?
As she turned away, he heard a noise. Was that . . .
“Was that your stomach?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry.” She put her hand over her stomach and backed away.
“Why haven’t you eaten?” he demanded.
“Um, well. I got a scone from downstairs, but it was a weird flavor. Spring onion and lemon. I’m not sure how I’m going to tell Lou that I didn’t like it, to be honest.”
He sighed. “I don’t care about the scone, Blossom. If you’re hungry, you need to eat. Take the company card and get sandwiches from the place down the block. For you and me.”
“Oh, I’ve got some lunch with me, though.”
“Don’t argue with me.” He held out the credit card.
“Yes, sir.” As she took the card, her fingers brushed his. He clenched his jaw to stop himself from grabbing hold of her and tugging her toward him.
He wanted to pull her onto his lap and kiss her. Corrupt her.
To see what noises he could force from her mouth as he laid her out on his desk and ate her out until she was a blissed-out mess.
Then turn her over and fuck her, making her scream his name over and over.
Instead, he let go of the card and forced himself not to watch her leave the room.
Why did the sandwich place he liked have to be so far away?
All right, it wasn’t that far, she was just in pain.
Eric was such a . . . such a donkey.
Actually, that was mean to donkeys.
Faith shuffled back to the office, carrying her bag of food. Her mouth was watering at the thought of the chicken salad sandwich she’d ordered for herself.
As she walked up to the building where the law office was, she saw an older woman standing on the street, begging. She had a dog sitting next to her.
Fudge knuckles.
Faith was a sucker for dogs. All sorts of animals, really. But particularly dogs. She didn’t have any money to offer her. But . . . she didn’t need that sandwich, did she? And Reuben didn’t need all that extra pastrami in his.
She stopped with a smile and reached in to grab her sandwich. “Sorry, I don’t have any spare cash. But here you go.”
“Thank you, dear.” The woman’s hand shook as she took the sandwich.
“I’m Faith.”
“Margie. This is Petey.”
“Hey, Petey, you sweet boy. There’s some pastrami in the other sandwich; would he like some?” she asked Margie.
“He’d love it.”
She unwrapped Reuben’s sandwich and extracted some of the meat. Petey wolfed it down and looked up at her for more.
Ahh, well, all that meat wasn’t good for Reuben. She drew out some more of the pastrami. And a bit more before wrapping it back up.
“Is there anything else you need, Margie?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m fine, dear. Thank you for the sandwich.”
She smiled and waved as she walked away. Maybe she could bring Petey some dog treats when she got paid.
When she got up to the thirtieth floor, dread filled her as she realized what she’d done.
Perhaps Reuben wouldn’t notice. His door was open, so she walked in quietly and left the sandwich and credit card on his desk.