Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Then, he lets out a long-held breath and shrugs, fuck it style. “Because you know I can’t stop thinking about this,” he says, gesturing to the lipstick marks all over him.
“You think it was a subliminal message?”
“I do.”
Was it? I’d thought it was funny when I bought it, considering how he’s always looking at my lips. But maybe that was my mind playing tricks on me. Maybe deep down I knew it wasn’t intended as a joke.
But rather as an invitation.
To kiss me again.
And I hope—I truly hope—he’s RVSPing as he crosses to the counter, picks up the rose-gold tube behind me, and then comes closer. My chest squeezes, and heat floods every cell in my body. He’s holding the tube in front of me, and I can’t stop staring at the lipstick, at his hand, at his eyes. At the blaze in them.
“Wes,” I say, desperate.
He groans. “Yeah?”
“I didn’t go to the gallery to get your name to thank you,” I confess, and his beautiful brown eyes flicker with wild hope as he waits for me to finish. “I went to get your last name. So I could see you again.”
His smile takes its time turning wicked. Turning satisfied. “I had your scarf all ready to take to your friend’s apartment. Along with a note to ask you on another date.”
The double confession is like fireworks lighting up the kitchen. Sparks rush through me from head to toe, chased by a whoosh of desire. The thrill of reciprocation. I back up another inch so I’m against the counter. After he sets down the lipstick, he grabs my hips and lifts me up on the counter. Stands between my thighs. Spreads them open with his hips. “This is a very bad idea,” he says, like he’s fighting with himself.
But I’m not on his side. I’m already on the other side of this battle. “Or a good idea,” I offer in a flirty whisper.
“Tell me to stop,” he mutters as he unties my apron, as the song slows to a moodier beat, as if in tandem with us.
I slide a palm up his chest. “Don’t stop.”
“Tell me no.” It’s almost a plea.
I shake my head, smiling, inviting. “I’m saying yes.”
With a sigh of acceptance, he reaches behind me for the lipstick. Lifts the tube and says, “Then maybe we can just bend the rules.”
24
A LITTLE LIPSTICK, PLEASE
Wesley
This is playing with fire on so many levels. Sure, she’s my teammate’s sister, but more importantly? In a few short weeks, she’s become my friend. A good one, at that. Most of all, she’s my goddamn roommate.
Giving in to this lust is such a risk. It’s a massive complication. We’ll be sharing this kitchen, this living room, this home through the end of the year. Every second I see her in my house could be uncomfortable.
And yet, I don’t stop.
I go.
I gather up the hem of her peach sundress in one hand, my other hand holding the lipstick tube. “This gives me an idea,” I muse as I push up the fabric, revealing more of her lovely thighs.
“A very bad one?” she asks, turning my words right back on me.
I lean in closer. “A very good one.”
Her bright blue eyes flash with excitement. With filthy hope. “Well, don’t leave a girl hanging.”
That’s my Josie—full of sass and fire. My bold, funny, daring one-night stand. The woman I couldn’t get enough of. The woman I was desperate to see again.
Right now, I try to think of her that way rather than as the woman who’s inextricably wrapped up in my life.
Letting go of the cotton material, I sweep a hand behind her, pushing ingredients, the cutting board, and the bowls, farther away on the counter, making room. Then, I return to her, sliding my palm down her bare thigh, savoring the way she trembles as I touch her. When I reach her ankle, my gaze shifts to her toes. She fixed the aqua polish on the little pinky, and this detail makes my heart squeeze. It’s so very Josie.
In fact, it’s so very her, I’d better not think too hard on it or it’ll do dangerous things to my heart. Instead, I hike up her foot, setting the arch of it on the edge of the counter so her legs widen.
A sharp breath crosses her lips. I groan. Those lips. Dear god, those pretty pink lips. I ache to kiss her—with a sharp pang that’s so insistent, it’s borderline impossible to deny.
But if I kiss her again, I’ll get lost in her. It’s best to play. Have fun. Bend the rules. Not break them. That’s my plan—and it’s a plan that I’ve been formulating ever since I set eyes on that rose-gold lipstick tube.
I travel my hand back up her leg, goose bumps rising on her soft skin as I coast my palm over her. When I skim that hand along her thigh, she shudders, arching her back, lifting up her tits.