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)
“You were hurt. I wanted to help,” I say, truthfully. That’s all I’d thought then.
She runs her hands up my chest, eager fingers fiddling with the top button. “I thought about you that summer. I pictured you when I was in Paris. I RSVP’d to that Sweet Nothings party to see you,” she says, a hitch in her voice as emotions seem to rise up in her.
As she takes a beat, I add my own layer. “And then I looked for you on the running path. My favorite days were the ones when I saw you.”
Her eyes glint, the gears turning in her mind. “And then I asked for the internship for you,” she says.
An image of her blowing out the candle in my office, meeting my eyes, holding my gaze, taunts me. Tantalizes me.
Just knowing what she wanted is such a wicked thrill.
“I don’t think I figured that out at the time. But just the other week, it hit me that you had,” I tell her, my hands curling tighter around her, desire ratcheting up in me.
“And what did you think?” she asks, guileless, pure innocence as she revisits the story of how we came together.
“I think I was your birthday wish,” I say, rolling the dice.
She lifts her chin, shooting me the sexiest smile. “You’re some birthday gift.” She leans into my neck, dusting her lips against my throat, kissing her way up to my jaw.
I sigh greedily, craving more of her. “You wanted to seduce me,” I murmur.
She nods against me. “Did it work?”
She damn well knows the answer. But a little show and tell never hurt.
I grab her hands, take them off my chest, then back her up and prop her on the counter. My fingers find their way into her hair as I kiss her neck, leaving a trail of hot, needy kisses along her throat.
“Mr. James,” she murmurs, and the seductive tone sends lust curling down my back.
My sexy, sweet vixen. “Say it again,” I command.
It’s risqué like this as we lean into the ten years between us. She likes those years, I’ve learned.
“Take me, Mr. James,” she says, turning me on impossibly more. “Fuck me into the mattress, Mr. James.”
Need her now. Right now.
“The bedroom is too fucking far away.”
Gripping her ass, I jerk her harder onto my cock. She digs her nails into my biceps, holding on tight as I fuck her on the kitchen counter, her skirt hiked up, her blouse undone, her tits bouncing free.
Savoring the tight heat of her body, I swivel my hips, stroke into her. “You love it like this. When I fuck you deep. Don’t you, honey?”
Frantically, she answers, urging me on with, “Harder. Deeper.”
I give her everything she wants.
Soon, my sweet, sexy girl is losing her mind. She’s grabbing the back of my neck, scratching my shoulders.
Lust barrels down my spine. But I stave off my own release. I crave hers. Her noises, her sounds, her pleasure.
Most of all, I crave her sweet, reckless, abandon. She is fearless in bed. She’s a woman who chases desire shamelessly, and who deserves it completely. And I’m the lucky man who gets to give it to her.
She’s close, so close and still, she pants out, “Please, please, please, Mr. James.”
“You’re so fucking good at begging for it,” I praise.
She shudders everywhere. “I’m begging you. Make me come.”
My circuits overheat. They sizzle. “Always. Every fucking time,” I say as I maneuver a hand between her legs, circling her clit with my thumb. She’s shaking and shuddering, then falling apart, breaking so beautifully into bliss.
My thighs shake. My cock throbs. And I’m right there with her, filling her with a soul-deep orgasm that blots away the city, the night, the time.
There’s nothing else but this ecstasy. And us.
A little later, I’m lying next to her in bed, still feeling the effects of the orgasm drug.
The side effects of her.
Absently, I run my fingers through her hair. “Where do you want to go on Sunday? Maybe we could try Brooklyn again,” I suggest, picturing the last time we were there at the gardens.
“Brooklyn,” she says, like she’s trying out the word. “That’s getting closer, isn’t it?”
She means closer to the city of course.
I kiss her bare shoulder. “Manhattan soon,” I say, hopeful, making a promise I don’t entirely know how to keep. But I want to.
“Soon,” she says, then takes a beat. “There’s so much to see in this city. Always something to discover and to uncover. I’ve never lived anyplace else, and I’m not sure I want to.”
I clear my throat. “Ahem. Are you forgetting Paris?”
She gasps in faux shock. “You’re right. How could I forget Paris? I do love it there.”
“I’ll take pictures for you when I’m there this week to remind you. I can picture you in the city of light perfectly. Wandering down some passage, ducking into a boulangerie, finding a hidden garden where there’s an art gallery.”