Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
A naked massage would be great right about now.
Statistically, most massages lead to sex, in case you weren’t aware.
“You plus me. That’s all that matters right now.”
“I know that, babe.” Harlow smacks a hand over her mouth, horrified. “Oh. My. God. I did not just call you babe!”
She moves forward, pressing her forehead against my bare chest.
“Please forget I said that, oh my God, please let the ground swallow me whole.” She’s moaning and carrying on, so the only logical thing to do next?
Kiss her.
Kiss her anxieties away.
It only takes a few seconds for her to melt in my arms—seriously, I’m not exaggerating. Her arms come around my neck and pull me down so she has better access to my mouth, her fingernails raking up and down the back of my neck.
That’s her thing.
She loves my hair.
Loves having her fingers in it.
With almost no effort, I lift her at the waist and set her on the counter, the same way I set her there earlier.
“You like that, baby?” I tease, practicing baby talk and endearments. “I don’t hate you calling me babe, and if you want to call me sweetie or shnookums, I wouldn’t hate that either. That’s what couples do, yeah?”
She pulls a face. “Um, I think it’s too soon for us to be talking like that. This is, like, our second date.”
Ha ha, it is. But so what?
“Some people get engaged after one date.”
She pulls back so she can look at me. “Who?”
“I don’t know—people.”
“You don’t know what people.” Harlow laughs, pulling me in, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Stop making shit up.”
“I need you. No one else is going to tell me to stop making shit up and give it to me straight.” She should learn now I’m used to getting the things I want.
“Does everyone always do what you say?”
“Not everyone. Strangers mostly, like the woman at the hotel who bent over backward to make us breakfast snacks.” Even though it was billed to my room and was far from free.
“That was nice of her.” Harlow’s face is tilted up toward mine. “And it was so sweet of you to put that whole day together for us back in New York. No one has ever done anything like that for me.”
Now we’re getting somewhere.
She’s warmed up. Happy.
She has stars in her eyes, and if I just slide my hands under her shirt, I can cop a feel of her gorgeous tits, whisper about her sexy pussy and how tight she felt when I was inside her earlier.
“Did you know you purr when you’re about to come?”
“I do not!” She laughs.
Her hands are on my ass, squeezing. They move along the waistband of my pants, inching around to the front, down over my pleasure trail, straight to my—
“Harlow Margaret!”
Chapter 24
Harlow
“Harlow Margaret!”
“Uh-oh—Big Steve is back,” Andy mutters under his breath, stepping away from me, and I mourn the loss of his body heat, wanting to hug and kiss him now that I know who he really is.
No more guessing.
Andy is a pro athlete.
I wouldn’t have guessed it if I’d had to bet my life on it, not in a million years. Like I said, he’s way too nice—in my opinion, obviously. I have no actual working, firsthand information. But yeah.
Never would have guessed it.
Dad? He is back, and he looks thrilled.
“Holy shit. Are the two of you dating?” His eyes dart back and forth, back and forth between the two of us, confusion and excitement etched on his face. “Are you?”
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” says Andy.
We look at each other at the same time.
He raises his brows.
I raise mine.
“We’re not.” I look back to my dad. “We don’t know what we’re doing yet, okay?” Those are the facts. “But he likes me so much he randomly showed up here and scared the shit out of me, the same way you’re always popping up on me.”
“Not even a little bit the same,” Andy mutters next to me.
“Oh my God,” Dad gushes. “It’s all over the news that you’re here!”
“Is it?” Andy preens humbly, and I don’t believe for a second he did not know he was going to cause a stir.
“I’d ask if I could take your picture.” Dad is staring down at his feet, giving me aw-shucks vibes. “But I know you probably wouldn’t want to . . .”
“Dad!” I am appalled! “Andy is my guest!”
“I know, I know—but what about the guys? Can’t I tell them?”
I roll my eyes. I couldn’t give a crap about the gentlemen in his wine club, but he lives to impress them; him wanting a photo comes as no surprise.
“Dad. Now is not the time. We’re trying to sort a few things out.”
“What kind of things? You told me I only had to be gone ten minutes, and it’s been ten minutes. I timed it.”