Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Just when I think it can’t get worse, I find the handle and pull. Nothing happens. I pull again.
Nothing.
“Do these doors not work?” I chastise myself, pulling and releasing the handle over and over.
“Stay put. I put the child lock on.” His voice is thick and low as he exits the vehicle and comes around to my side. When he opens the door, his gaze roves over me before he utters, “From now on, when you are with me, you will never open your own door.”
Wow.
He comes around to my side of the car, opens the door and reaches out a hand, and something deep in my core sobs at his beauty. He’s so unbelievably large. So…mouthwateringly male as he looks down. He’s the man from my dreams, even if my dreams didn’t know how to put a face on him. The silver flecks in his hair and beard make him sexier than when he was younger, I’m sure of it.
I don’t want to get out. I want to stay close, I want to know what he meant by, From now on, when you are with me.
Because, from what I can tell, this is where we go our separate ways.
I exit the car, standing next to him, reveling in his heavy scent of masculinity and dirty dreams.
I indulge in a brief mental image of his bare back, beaded with sweat, my nails scratching a path down the skin. His hips flexing as he squeezes his cock deep in my pulsating pussy…
Daddy’s going to put a baby in you now. Hold on tight, angel...
“Is everything all right?” He gives me a wary look.
I’ve lost my voice. I’m sure he can sense my arousal. I brush a hand down the bodice of my dress and feel the nipple-bullets pressing out through the material.
“Yes, it’s just you’ve been so great.”
“I'm glad I was in the right place at the right time to get you home safe.”
Safe. How did a stranger make me feel that way?
I want to relish the comfort a little longer. It’s intoxicating. I want to be next to Jack for a minute more. A few seconds.
Delaying the inevitable with a generous helping of desperation, inspiration hits. “I have a thought.”
“And what’s that?” he answers with sincere interest giving me the courage to continue.
“I baked a new version of my red velvet cake. I can run up, get you a slice. I’d like to give you something as a token of gratitude. It’s not much...but it’s yummy, and you can give me your verdict.”
I expect him to tell me thanks, but no thanks. All politeness and business. I know he has way more important things to do, even at two in the morning, than wait for my moist red cake with rainbow icing.
And, yes, I used the word moist, because…cake, it’s okay.
Instead, of giving me a reserved brush off, he shuts the car door and runs his fingers down my cheek.
“I’d love a piece of your cake.” The way he says it sends a racing shiver down the center of my back. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You serve it to me personally. Right now, in your kitchen.”
“Uh...” I twist my lips, trying to figure out a way out of him coming upstairs and seeing my insignificant and somewhat embarrassing living arrangement, not to mention my laundry strewn everywhere. “You want to come up…”
“Lead the way.” His strong body is positioned toward the entrance of the house, his one arm extended forward while his other now rests firmly between my shoulder blades, guiding me.
“I'm not really a pro baker. I just do it for fun. So, don’t get your hopes up.”
“That’s alright. My mother baked. Red velvet is one of those cakes, people love it or hate it. I love it. It’s quite divisive, as baked goods go.”
I whirl around. “Oh, man, mine will never be able to measure up to a mother’s cake.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
His lips pull up just a touch on one side, a flash of those perfectly-imperfect white teeth, and I reach into my purse and fumble for my keys.
We ascend, and I turn my head to see his eyes locked onto my rear end.
“Be careful on this next step.” I nod down tapping my right foot on the loose spot. “Stay to the left. The center is broken.”
“Your landlord needs to fix it.” His voice is tipped with anger.
“I know. I told him about it. Like, five times.”
Jack grunts as we reach the top of the stairs and I work my keys into the three separate locks and swing open the door.
As we step inside, I look at him again in the brighter light, taking note of the lines on his face. If I looked up Daddy in the dictionary, it would be his face I’d see, and he’s right here, in my crummy, three hundred square foot abode.