Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
I remember sitting in my bedroom with the door cracked as Landon spoke to Dad calmly and fearlessly, a manner people rarely used with him. I remember watching Landon in awe, waiting for him to cringe away from Dad like everybody did, but Landon just watched him steadily.
Then my memory judders ahead to the more recent. I see Landon standing in his stylish suit earlier today. I remember the humanity in his eyes and how his arms bulged in his jacket, his powerful form like he was getting ready to burst from his clothes.
In my mind, he reaches out and brushes his hand down my arm. Then he takes my hand and pulls me toward him, his body trembling all over as he guides me right against him. He pushes his body against mine, letting me feel the solid outline of his manhood against my belly.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” I imagine him growling in that mature, husky voice. “You’re so sexy, so beautiful …”
He’s even more handsome now than he was ten years ago. He didn’t have flecks of silver in his hair then. He didn’t have an aura of pure command and control.
Now, I imagine him lifting me up. We’re not outside anymore. The fantasy has taken us into a bright bedroom, the sunlight kissing off the silk sheets. He lays me on the sheets and leans down atop me, letting me drag my hands over his muscled back as I dig my fingernails into him.
“Forget about the rest of the world,” he says in my mind. “Forget about the past. Forget about how awkward this could be. Let’s live in the moment. Me. You. This heat. I know you feel it, too.”
I slide my hand between my legs, unable to ignore that hot feeling any longer. My clit aches as I stroke my fingers up and down and around, letting the sizzling the pleasure fuel the images dancing in my mind. I imagine Landon sliding his hand up my leg, staring down at me with that fixed expression, completely consumed with this moment, with me.
“You’re so, so perfect …”
Something about imagining him calling me perfect heats me even more. Maybe it’s the fact I can imagine him talking about my body, yes, the lust I inspire in him, but also me, as a person, the path I’ve chosen. He’s my hero, my knight in shining armor.
My breath comes quicker as I rub my clit with more urgency. In the fantasy, he’s slipping his finger inside, groaning when he realizes how wet I am. I twitch my hips in time with the motion of his hand, chasing the pleasure, chasing the release. He growls like he can sense how close I’m getting.
“Come, Lily,” I imagine his snarling. “Come for me. Come hard. Come, come, come …”
I bite down on the pillow, squeezing my legs together as the orgasm pulses. My head feels light as it thrums through me. I roll onto my back, gasping as I stare up at the ceiling, sure I can see stars glimmering across my vision—stars of lust, stars of hope, stars of impossibility.
Maybe Maddie thinks I’m silly for answering his text with something about work, but it makes the most sense. Even if my wild fantasy of Landon wanting me was true, would it be good for me? Would it be the best thing for my career? Would it be the best thing for my life?
Dad was almost twenty years older than Mom, and look how that worked out.
“I didn’t stand a chance,” she told me once. “He was so much more experienced. He’d seen so much more of the world …”
After going into the bathroom to clean myself up, I promise to keep Mom’s words, the importance of staying focused on my career, and the fact there are so many years between us at the forefront of my mind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LANDON
“What’s all this?” Ethan asks the following day when he walks into the office to find me intently studying a noticeboard I’ve covered in printouts.
“The Bear is owned by a man who has never owned any previous businesses, has a clean police record, and has never been in any other trouble. Except he’s a childhood friend of Damon O’Connell’s.”
“Right …” Ethan puts his briefcase on his desk and prepares for the day. “The Bear is that bar?”
“Damon O’Connell is the patriarch of an Irish mob family,” I go on.
“The mob?” Ethan says, his tone suddenly taut. “That pro bono work has mob connections?”
“Damon O’Connell,” I say, ignoring the disgust in his voice, “has been seen in public with two separate cartel leaders, both of whom have been known to dabble in using children either as drug mules or … worse.”
I can’t say the second bit, and Ethan doesn’t need me to. He steeples his fingers and stares at me coldly across the office. “You realize we’ve got a day full of meetings booked from …” He checks his gold watch. “Now until seven p.m.”