Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
My cock is at full attention now. Full attention—from a goddamned kiss.
A tiny groan, more a vibration than a sound, begins in my throat. Her hands drift up my arms to my neck, and she entwines her fingers in my hair. I need a haircut, but with her next move, I may never get another. She grabs my hair and pulls slightly, a gesture I feel all the way to my toes.
I growl into her mouth and roughly tug on her ponytail, my tongue still tangling with hers. We kiss and we kiss and we kiss until—
“Bedroom,” I gasp, breaking the kiss. “God, I want to fuck you so bad. I need to get inside that tight little body of yours.”
I need to touch her—her face, her neck, her shoulders.
Undress her, lock my gaze onto those awesome tits of hers, pinch her nipples until she squeals, slide my fingers between her legs, feel how ready she is for me.
And she’s ready. Already her musk has perfumed the air in my penthouse. I inhale, close my eyes, inhale again.
Then I grab her hand and guide her down the hallway toward the closed door at the end.
My bedroom.
I touch the brushed brass doorknob, ready to turn it.
She bites her lip. “No.”
Frustration wells inside me, and I narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”
She clears her throat. “No. I can’t do this. We barely know each other.”
I stare at her. Force myself not to glare at her.
Why is she resisting?
She’s turned on, clearly. Her heart is thumping so hard and fast that I can actually see her breasts move. Her cheeks and chest are red with blood flow, and— I inhale. Yes, no mistaking the fragrance.
Fuck. Now I want her even more. I didn’t think that was possible.
But it’s her choice.
I may have blue balls, but I’ll never force a woman into my bed.
I’m gazing at her, into her, and though we’re only inches away from each other, the distance seems like miles.
I don’t want to be miles away from this woman.
I want her in my arms. In my bed. Underneath my body.
It will happen. Sometimes, patience comes in handy. I don’t have a lot of it, but I’ve learned to fake it. The business world requires patience. Sometimes the personal world does, too. Anything worth having is worth waiting for, and Skye Manning is definitely worth having.
And worth waiting for.
I say nothing. Instead, I take her hand and lead her back to the living area. Sasha prances around us, and I lean down to give her a pat on the head.
“I’m sor—”
“Not a problem, Skye.” I pull my phone out of my pocket, clear my throat, and call my driver. “Christopher? Ms. Manning needs a ride home.”
Chapter Six
Cold showers suck. They don’t work on aching balls, but they do make sure sleep never comes. Not a huge problem. I always have work I can get done.
I’m toweling off my hair when Christopher calls.
“She get home all right?” I say into the phone.
“Yeah.”
“Tell me about her place.”
“It’s downtown, a decent apartment building. Walking distance or a short ride on the T to the Ames Hotel where she works.”
“Did you walk her up?”
“Of course. It’s late.”
“Tell me.”
“I didn’t see much. Just made sure she got in okay. I heard the dead bolt click, and I left.”
“You didn’t look inside?”
“Not really. No.”
Fuck. I sound like a horny schoolboy. Did she say anything about me? Do you think she likes me?
I stop myself before I actually ask those questions. Since when do I care if a woman likes me? I can get twenty women over here to take Skye’s place in a heartbeat.
“Thanks, Christopher,” I say. “Good night.”
“Good night, Mr. Black.”
I set my phone down on the counter and continue drying my hair. I throw the towel in the hamper and put on a pair of old jeans and a white T-shirt. I slide into my slippers, grab the phone, and leave my bedroom. Down the hallway is my home office.
Guess where I’ll be spending the night?
Not a problem. I love to work. I love the ins and outs of business, finance, marketing, investing.
I see it as a game—a game I almost always win.
Funny. That’s usually how I see my female conquests as well, and it’s usually a game they’re more than willing to play, obeying my rules. And I have some very particular rules. Very particular tastes.
But Skye Manning? I can tell she’ll be a challenge.
She may not like my rules.
But she’ll succumb eventually.
I’ll make sure of it.
Because I can never resist a challenge.
…
After spending a good portion of the night dealing with the shitstorm that resulted from yesterday’s meeting with Legal, I finally fall into bed around three a.m.
But my sleep is anything but restful.
Dreams of Skye Manning plague me.
That kiss—how perfectly her lips aligned with mine, the delicious flavor of her mouth, her intoxicating scent of raspberries and roses. Red roses.