Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24804 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
When he comes back to the table, he puts our drinks down along with two huge cinnamon rolls and takes the seat across from me.
“They looked so good I thought we should try them,” he explains, nodding at the pastries. He’s right. The buns are warm, drizzled in fresh icing, and I can already smell the spice and cinnamon. Since I’ve been here before, I know how good their rolls are, and my mouth waters. Then again, these pastries are likely one of the contributing factors to my ten pound weight gain.
“Thanks,” I murmur, smiling even though I’m a little annoyed he brought me this delicious temptation.
Mason grins and takes a bite of his roll while I watch. “Oh, you’ve got to eat yours. It’s delicious,” he enthuses.
I laugh, pointing to the icing stuck to the side of his mouth. “I think I better save mine for later because it looks like it’s pretty messy. I’ve already had enough messes for one day.”
Mason wipes his mouth with a napkin, and then picks up the roll he bought and holds it up to my mouth with a devilish expression. “Just one bite. I don’t think you know what you’re missing, and I promise I’m not going to squirt this on you the way you squirted me earlier.”
I inhale deeply, and it smells too good to say no. Plus, my date is trying to feed me, and something about this handsome man wanting to serve me food from his hand makes me get goosebumps on my skin. I’m not sure I could tell him no right now if I wanted to. So I open my mouth and take a small bite. Mason’s eyes flash, and he growls, “Good girl.”
Then icing gets on my lip but before I can grab a napkin, the gorgeous man gently swipes his finger across my bottom lip, wiping it away. Never dropping his eyes from my own, he puts that finger in his mouth and licks off the sweet cream. My heart races as I stare at him. OMG, did he just do that because it was damn sexy!
“I enjoy finger painting, too,” he remarks like nothing’s wrong, and for a minute I’m completely lost, but after the fog lifts, I remember the train of our conversation.
“Um, sure,” I mutter hoarsely, my cheeks flaming. “Hands-on is best.” I take a big swallow of my iced latte to try to cool myself off. There was so much innuendo in that statement, that my brain is about to burst. What is going on? I’m used to clumsy flirtations from juvenile boys, but this man is playing on a different level.
Trying to hide my nervousness, I smile and ask, “Do you live around here? I haven’t seen you at an OnDemand class before.”
He shakes his head dolefully.
“No,” he says. “I’m just in Atlantic City on business.”
I cock my head with confusion. “Really? But you were free in the middle of the day to attend an art class? That seems strange.” I raise my eyebrow in question.
He laughs. “You got me there. I came to Atlantic City for a business conference, but it was so boring I swear I could feel my hair turning gray. So I had to get out of there.”
Taking in his gorgeous head of jet black hair, I giggle a bit. “It would be a shame for you to be bored into premature white hair.”
“See?” he says, laughing. “I knew you’d understand.”
I giggle again while taking another sip from my latte. “You thought so, huh? But you don’t even know me!”
At that, his blue eyes flash as he leans close.
“True, but something told me that a girl who carries anal lube around in her art bag might understand how frustrating it would be to be that bored.”
My jaw drops and I have to force my mouth shut. “Oh that. So you knew.”
He leans back, his smile widening. “Not many paints come with a coconut smell. Besides, I saw the name on the tube you were holding, and let’s be honest: Cocoslick has that especially thick consistency that’s good for anal love. Is that what you enjoy, honey?” he asks, quirking a black brow.
Heat. All I can feel is burning heat rising up my neck to my face, consuming everything in its wake. I’m sure I’m as red as a tomato right now. I try to bury my face in my hands, but Mason gently pulls my palms away from my cheeks. “But what I’m really curious about,” he says, “is what you were doing with anal lube in your art supply bag? Why would you bring it to class? Using it is no big deal, sweetheart. In fact, I love a girl who engages in back door play, but why was it with your paints?”
I stammer, unable to speak for a moment before the words come rushing out.