Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
40
SPECIAL GUEST
Harlow
I could get used to this. I’m curled up with Bridger in his bed, and we’re reading.
It’s a Sunday night. My first two days at work were incredible. So was this weekend, especially since we slipped away again today, heading to another Connecticut seaside town for the second Sunday in a row. “We’re creatures of habit,” I’d teased.
“Yes. That’s us,” he’d said.
Us.
I want to figure out how to be an us, but I’m still a little terrified of what that means. So I return to my book.
A chapter later, my phone trills. I glance at it on the nightstand. My Dad’s name flashes on the screen.
My chest twinges briefly, a reminder of a week ago in Bridger’s office. But I hit ignore. I won’t be summoned this time.
Seconds later, there’s a text from him.
I read it. Oh. Wow. “Huh,” I say, surprised.
Bridger sets down his book, then his reading glasses too. “What’s going on?” he asks curiously.
I read the note out loud.
Poppet, would you like to go to the Annual Critics’ Award Gala next month? Vivian and I have a VIP table, of course. We would love to have you as our special guest! First year that you can go!
I set the phone down and look to Bridger. “I wanted to go so badly when I was younger.”
He nods in understanding. “Ah. There’s a rule that attendees have to be twenty-one and up,” he says.
“I remember when I was ten, my mom and dad were going. They were guests of her agency, since Sweet Nothings was just a book series then. I begged them to take me.” I’m a little embarrassed at my young antics. “I said I’d clean the house for a year if I could go. I’d sweep the floors, clean the toilets, anything.” I laugh at the memory. Then turn to Bridger. “I assume you’re going.”
“I’ll be there.”
I play with the neck of his T-shirt. “In a tux?”
A cocky grin curves his lips. “Of course.”
“Mmm. I guess I’ll go then. I’ve always wanted to see you in a tux,” I say.
He reaches for my hand. “And then you’ll come over after, and I’ll take you while you’re still wearing some gorgeous dress.”
Pleasure curls through me.
And so does an idea.
“Actually, there’s something else I want to do to you when you’re wearing a tux,” I say, my hand traveling down his chest, covering his abs.
“And what’s that?” he asks, his voice going dark, a little dirty.
I sit up, then tug at the hem of his T-shirt. “Take this off.”
He sits up and in one swift move, he does that ridiculously sexy thing where he takes off his T-shirt one-handed.
I slide down his body, pulling at his shorts, then his boxer briefs. His cock springs free, already hard. Ready for me.
“I need more practice, Mr. James,” I say teasingly, then dust the faintest kiss to the tip.
His hand comes down to my hair, curling lightly through the strands. I swirl my tongue over him as I settle between his spread legs.
He moans, low and restrained.
I’ve only done this once before to him. The man’s so focused on my pleasure. He’s such a giver that I hardly have the chance. But I want to experience all the things with him. I am ravenous for intimacy with this man.
So I practice once more, circling a hand around his length, bringing him farther into my mouth.
He’s quieter than he is during sex, barely talking.
Just grunting.
Moaning.
Murmuring as I take him deeper.
Even though we’ve been naked together so many nights already, it’s like there’s a part of him that’s still restrained around me.
The other time I did this, he didn’t let me finish. He fucked me instead when he was close.
This time, I’m determined to last. So, I suck deeper, more fervently.
“Fuck, Harlow,” he groans.
Instantly, I’m wetter.
Hotter.
I show him with my mouth how much I like turning him on. When he’s shaking under me, his hand curls tighter in my hair, and he mutters. “Let me touch you.”
I let go, look up. “Please. I want to.”
He gazes at me, like this is hard for him, but then he growls, “Then finish me.”
I sizzle at the command. Taking him back in my mouth till he’s groaning loudly, incoherently, then coming down my throat.
A few seconds later, I move off, settle next to him in the crook of his arm. He seems happy, sated. His woozy look tells me so. But still, I’m concerned. I’ve got a sinking feeling this is an age thing. “Bridger, do you not want me to do that to you?”
He blinks in surprise. “What?”
I woman up. “Is this because I’m younger? Like, you think you’re taking advantage of me if I give you a blow job? If I do something totally centered on you?”
He laughs incredulously. “No, Harlow.” Then he hedges. “Fine, maybe at first I felt that way. Before we started spending every night together.”