Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130673 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 523(@250wpm)___ 436(@300wpm)
“Dylan,” Rhyland hissed impatiently—for what must have been the thousandth time, judging by his tone.
We were in the elevator heading downstairs to Café Europa. I couldn’t bear to look at him. Only now, it wasn’t just because he was hot; it was also because this hotness was attached to a man my child absolutely adored.
But he was wrong. I wasn’t catching feelings. I was catching hormones.
“Hmm?” I feigned boredom.
“I just gave you a rundown of the entire plan.” He gave me a funny “what is wrong with you?” look. “Were you even listening?”
“Nope. Was too busy fantasizing about you moving out of the building. Repeat it.”
He rubbed his hands together, boyishly focused. “We’re going to beat Bruce there. He’s a punctual motherfucker, but we’re still early. So what we’ll do is we’ll kiss at the exact minute he walks in, and that way, he’ll think he’s walking in on us being lovey-dovey and shit.”
“Remind me why he couldn’t just bring the invitation to your penthouse.”
“Because you’re supposed to live there with me, and the most feminine thing I own is a life-size painting of Ursula Andress butt naked, and I don’t think that counts.”
That warranted me slapping his arm with my purse. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. There wasn’t a floor-to-ceiling-size painting, so I had to settle.”
“Well, what if he’s a few minutes late?” I challenged.
The elevator doors slid open, and we both stepped outside. The weather was glorious, the street flooded with sunrays and the sticky, heavy scent of flowers in bloom.
“Then you’ll just have to suffer through kissing me for a little while longer.” Rhyland heaved a long-suffering sigh. His fingers clasped mine naturally as we crossed the street to the pretty French coffee shop with overflowing pink-and-yellow flowerpots and white rustic tables.
“Don’t ridicule my struggles. I might throw up. My gag reflex is super sensitive,” I huffed.
“I’d love it if we could work on that.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I speared him with a look. He returned a languid expression.
“You don’t have the balls to touch me,” I taunted him.
“I’m literally about to fucking kiss you.”
“And if Row finds out?” I inquired sweetly.
“I’ll tell him the truth. That it was all for show. So we could have an audience. And that neither of us enjoyed it.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“We should probably practice before he arrives,” Rhyland suggested.
“Practice?” My eyebrows slammed together, and he spluttered a laugh. “No, thanks. I already know how to kiss. I’m not entirely new to this, you know.”
I hated that he knew how much I wanted him. Usually, it was the other way around. And sure, I knew Rhyland found me attractive, but Rhyland cast a wide net. He found a lot of people attractive. Didn’t mean he’d give them the time of day.
“You’re entirely new to kissing me.” He waggled his brows. “It’s not the same experience as kissing all the boys who came before.”
He glanced at his watch again. So did I. It was ten minutes to.
“We don’t have time to practice,” I said.
“We won’t need more than ten minutes. Actually, five will be sufficient.”
He let go of my hand, grabbing my waist and tipping me against the wall, his own Leaning Tower of Pisa. A small gasp escaped me at his warm, possessive touch. He tilted me down, one hand on my waist, the other curling over the back of my thigh, as he brought his lips an inch from my own. He halted a breath away from my lips, and I could already taste him. Cinnamon, bonfire, clean male, and my demise.
“Famous last words before I kiss you?” he croaked.
“Man buns are ridiculous past twenty-five,” I spewed out venomously.
With a sardonic, irresistible smirk, he dove down and kissed me.
RHYLAND
My stomach dipped as soon as our lips touched, a roller-coaster effect I’d never experienced before when kissing someone.
My hand hiked up, cradling her head, fingers threading along the locks of her hair of their own accord as our hot mouths fused together, suckling each other in desperation, as if we were gasping for breath.
She moaned into my mouth, and I seized the moment, slicking my tongue over hers, finding the heat of her and burrowing into it. She tasted like the sweetest nectar, and I found myself edging closer to heaven’s gate, moving my mouth over hers softly at first, searching for the moans and the gasps, trying to gauge how she liked to be kissed—passionately? Sweetly? Ardently? Leisurely?—until I found the perfect pressure that made her ankle vine around mine, her sandaled toes curling.
Our tongues danced together now, and fuck, she knew what she was doing. She teased me with fast, shallow strokes, and every time our kiss got into a rhythm, she gave me a curveball, changing the angle of her head or biting my lower lip. She was playful and confident and famished. I could feel the tension in her muscles dissolving, how her trepidation melted away. She was putty in my arms, fierce but pliant at the same time, and I thought to myself that I’d been doing it wrong for the past thirty years. This was the real deal. The edge of something wild and dark and different.