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)
Even through my panties, I could smell my lust for him, the sweet earthiness of my desire. I was soaked beneath the flimsy fabric. His mouth slid down my chin, the tip of his tongue teasingly descending along my skin until he reached my breasts. He gave my upper boob a soft bite, and I shuddered, fingers twisting in his hair, ruining his man bun.
“I’d love to fuck you like this. In my favorite position.” He thrust himself between my legs, his cock pressing against my drenched underwear through his pants, and even though his head was blocking my view, I swear, it was ten and a half inches. God help me, I was going to need an epidural before our first time.
I reached between us, giving him a firm stroke. His dick twitched, leaning into my palm like an excitable pet. A tremor tore through me, and our lips collided again, our kiss deep and urgent as I pressed my tits to his defined pecs.
“Fuck me,” I begged into his mouth. “Please, Rhy.” I wrapped my legs around him, rolling my hips to bring the point home.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. I was sure he was going to let the doors close and take me up to his penthouse. Instead, he grabbed me by the waist and put me down, shoving me out. I whipped my head around to look at him in shock and found him standing there with an unaffected smirk and a messy bun. The only telltale sign that this hot make-out session hadn’t been entirely in my head was the bulge latching onto his upper thigh. He was so long and thick it splayed all the way across to the other side of his hip. My mouth was parched.
“Later, Cosmos.”
“Later, dickwad.”
His laughter rang out across the entire building as the doors closed and I trudged my way to my apartment.
RHYLAND
Rhyland: Don’t forget I’ll have to get handsy with your sister tonight bc of Marshall.
Row: Not too handsy. She is saving herself for marriage.
Rhyland: SHE HAS A KID.
Row: She found Jesus.
Rhyland: You’ve lost your plot.
Row: Don’t take advantage of the situation, Rhyland. I mean it.
Rhyland: You don’t trust me?
Row: With my finances? Yes. With my sister? NO.
Rhyland: Would it really be the end of the world if I were your brother-in-law?
Row: Now you’re just begging to be punched.
Three days later, Row’s seasoning line, the Grill Deal, launched at Times Square. It was a celebrity-filled bash. Viral chefs, culinary influencers, and Food Network personalities glided up and down the red carpet, smiling big for the cameras and taking selfies.
Each guest received a goodie bag that included Row’s special spices: a collection of grill rubs for poultry, steak, seafood, pot roast, and pizza. The bougie kit would go for ninety-nine bucks at retail price—unheard of for a bunch of dried herbs. It was a total sellout move, another way for him to amass even more millions than he already had, but I could hardly blame him. Gotta hit the iron while it’s hot, and Row had already confided in me he wanted to retire early and spend all his time with his wife and daughter.
Speaking of hot things, I didn’t look too shabby in my Kiton suit. I’d skipped the dress shirt, going for a buttoned blazer that showed off my crazy-sculpted chest. I stopped on the red carpet to give the cameras a dazzling white smile, one hand casually tucked inside my front pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Row and Cal speaking to a hotshot TV executive I’d once fake-dated to get her parents off her back. Row was wearing an all-black three-piece suit, and Cal was wearing… What the fuck was she wearing? Some kind of burgundy velvet dress that blended in with the carpet, with two giant roses covering her tits.
Don’t get me wrong, she was a knockout by anyone’s standards, but I wasn’t a fan of the super-quirky style.
Row caught sight of me on the other side of the carpet and made his way over. He gave me a bro hug and a side chest pump. We sauntered back to Cal. The TV executive caught sight of me, remembered how she’d ended up in my sheets with her best friend, and lumbered toward a Food Network domestic goddess before our paths crossed. Kieran and Tate joined us.
“Thanks for being here, guys,” Cal squeaked.
“You’re most unwelcome. I have stock in Row’s brand. It is in my benefit that this line doesn’t crash and burn,” Tate drawled monotonously. “I’m not doing it out of the goodness of my heart.”
“I know,” Cal chirped. “Because you don’t have one.”
“Long time no see.” Kieran clapped my shoulder. “How’re you doing, Rhy?”
“Never been better,” I lied. My entire future, hopes, and dreams hung on Bruce Marshall, and I was becoming poorer by the nanosecond. “How ’bout you? Up to more destruction this month since leading Dylan to the bar her ex works in?”