Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“I’ve daydreamed about this forever,” I whisper, fingers working the top button of his dress shirt—so stuffy for a date, but appropriate for a business meeting.
“Tell me.” Are my ears deceiving me, or did his voice crack? “In detail.”
“Well,” I begin. “In my fantasy, I’m removing your tie like this, and I keep it nearby in case I want to bind your hands with it.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Or . . . I can gag you with it if you give me attitude. Which we both know is the likely scenario here.”
“You think you’re in charge?”
I smirk. “Oh, Rome. I don’t think I’m in charge here. I know I am. You might be the boss at work, but I’ll be the boss of this bedroom.”
I sound so sure of myself. So aggressive.
I love it.
Love the way he’s looking at me, eyes half-hooded and lazy, liking the way I’m taking control.
I don’t want to dominate him; I just want to do what I want with him . . .
“All right.” His answer is low. Amused.
His eyes are so watchful still as I work the front of his shirt. The fabric is worn and butter soft, gliding through my fingers when I tug the hem out of his jeans, his breath hitching.
Sliding my palms under his tee, I touch his chest, tentatively at first. Then more confidently, working my way up his abs and pecs.
Mmm. One of us moans and I’m almost certain it’s not me. Leisurely, I let my hands roam his upper torso, basking in his smooth flesh. He doesn’t have much hair on his chest like I thought he would, just a light sprinkle across his hard pecs. It’s light, barely noticeable, but there.
When I’m done exploring, my hands run under the shoulders of his shirt. Tug it up and over his head until it’s free from his body and falling to the floor.
Rome Blackburn, standing before me with only his pants on is not something I thought I’d ever see. He is mine for the taking; putty in my hands.
My hands are trembling a little. I might talk a lot of shit about banging, but in reality, I’m not the most experienced in the world . . . I’ve only had a small handful of sexual partners. Like, three.
One almost didn’t count, because we were in college, and neither of us knew any better. Fumbled around, pawing at each other. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t even stick it in the right hole the first time.
I almost laugh at the memories, nervous laughter bubbling in my throat when Rome’s serious, grey eyes catch mine.
His mouth twitches; he’s amused. He doesn’t know why I’m laughing, but the sound of it makes him smile. My voice makes him smile.
“You like me,” I simply state, tracing his bottom lip with the tip of my thumb. Back and forth, slowly, pad of my finger memorizing how soft his mouth is.
“I do,” he says, which is so unlike him.
“I can’t believe you admitted that.”
“I can’t believe it either. But you have my shirt on the floor and your fingers tracing my mouth and—shit. I just want to stand here and see what you’re going to do next.”
But he’s lying.
He doesn’t wait to see what I’m going to do next, because he’s impossible and impatient.
His hands are at his sides—but not for long. They find my waist and skim my hips over the silky fabric of my dress, gliding up my rib cage. They snake around to the front and tug at the sash tied over my abdomen, slowly dragging it out of its loop. Pulling it so the sash completely unties, the dress parts, and my entire middle is exposed. Bra. Panties.
“Well, this is a fun surprise.”
I’m full of them, I want to boast. But don’t have the courage; plus, I would choke on my nerves if I tried to speak.
Instead, I gasp as the cool air from his frigid bedroom hits my body. I shiver, from Rome’s hands and the temperature.
“Cold?” he murmurs, although he’s more interested in his turn to explore. They rake up my stomach that’s now covered in goose bumps, up to the lace trim on my red bra.
Yes, I wore a red bra. Yes, it’s cliché. But it matches my dress, and hopefully, my mood. I needed to feel sexy tonight, so I could do all the sexy things.
Lace-covered courage, as one might say.
“I was cold, but not anymore.”
His hands pass over my plump cleavage—I’m disappointed—not stopping until they reach the slope of my collarbone, gliding along there unhurried. It sends another shiver down my spine having his hands there. My skin is velvety smooth and tingles against his wanton fingertips.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, inching closer. “So sexy.”
His mouth finds the pulse in my neck and latches on.
“Don’t you dare give me a hickey,” I scold, pushing on his shoulders with the palm of my hands. It’s useless; his body is a wall of masculine energy.