Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
I step from the car, walking around to her side. It’s a constant battle to ignore how hard my cock is, constantly pushing against my pants, bulging and surging as my visceral instincts war with my need to be normal.
Whatever that means.
I know what it doesn’t mean.
Grabbing her, fingering her until she comes, making her even wetter, and then forcing my hard dick into her so that we can skip all these initial steps.
She’s my woman, my property.
“That bad?” she says, her voice shaking as she comes to a stop.
She’s wearing a matching pair of heels, and she’s clutching a small handbag. Her makeup is elegant and beautiful, a light layer that enhances her natural beauty instead of masking it.
I swallow, taking a step forward, not sure if I want to greedily devour the beauty of her face or the sexiness of her smooth thick legs.
“You look incredible,” I say huskily.
“Really?” she murmurs. “You don’t have to lie.”
“Really,” I snarl. “You look beautiful, Fiona, absolutely gorgeous.”
She lowers her gaze. Her cheeks have turned the sweetest shade of red, like fruit, like she’s trying to tempt me even with her blushes. I get the deranged urge to grab her wrist and guide it to my throbbing manhood, to let her feel how beautiful I think she is, know she is.
“What?” I say. “You find it difficult to believe?”
She looks up. The glint in her eyes couldn’t be more captivating, a never-ending battle of confidence and shyness. It makes me want to explore her shy depths, to learn that part of her while coaxing the sassiness out at the same time.
“Yes,” she replies after a pause. “Honestly, I do. But I guess that’s not saying much. This whole thing is hard to believe.”
I open the door for her, gesturing into the car. “It’s happening, mystery girl, so you better get used to it.”
She lightly laughs as she climbs into the car, her hands moving to her lap, squeezing onto her handbag. She’s holding it so hard it looks like she’s going to crush it.
I lean down, placing my hand atop hers to relieve some of the tension.
It has the opposite effect. She squeezes it even harder, making a huffing sound that goes directly to my base.
She looks up at me, part fear and part something else, something I can’t discern clearly.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her fiercely. “I mean it. I swear.”
I walk around to the driver’s side, climbing into the car.
She looks over at me, biting her lip in that infuriating enthralling way, as though she doesn’t know how difficult it is to focus anyway. Let alone when she looks like she’s ready to be dragged to bed, to be fucked hard and then kissed and cradled, both of us sweaty, entangled.
“So,” I say, starting the car. “Are you ready to tell me how you got my number?”
She seems to relax a little, her grip loosening. “Sure. Just don’t fire me, okay?”
I look over, smirking, letting her see I’m kidding. “That depends on what you tell me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fiona
Felix chuckles as I tell him the story.
I’m surprised I can get through it without my words faltering. It’s been a struggle to keep my breathing under control ever since he texted me, letting me know he was on his way to my apartment.
When he laid eyes on me, his expression became so serious, so intense, and I thought he was angry. But then he said I was beautiful, even laying his hand atop mine, provoking a crescendo of positive feelings to stir inside of me.
I study him as he laughs, his iron hair swept back, his jawline strong and freshly shaven. He’s wearing a light blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the material hugging onto his muscular body. His forearms are taut with muscles.
Every part of him is hard and ready….
But ready for what?
Maybe he thinks this is a pickup date, a way for some quick sex. I should tell him before it gets too awkward.
I should tell him right now.
But I don’t. It’s not an easy thing to talk about.
“My mom has cancer,” he says once my story is over. “Weirdly, the only thing she can keep down is sushi. But she wasn’t feeling it that day.”
“I’m sorry about your mom,” I murmur.
He glances at me, nodding. When he looks at me like that, with so much withheld emotion in his eyes, it makes our future seem close. I can imagine him looking the same way on our wedding day.
“Lung cancer. And she never smoked a day in her life.”
“Life can be cruel sometimes.”
He turns back to the road, guiding us away from the stop sign. “Yes, it can.”
“I lost my parents.”
I’m not sure why I yell those words. This is the first date. I’m supposed to be flirty and fun. We spoke about his Mom’s cancer because it related to how I got his number.