Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“What will we watch tonight?” I talk to myself as I concentrate on the channels.
I feel him before I see him. I glance up to see Henley leaning on the doorjamb with his shoulder. “Hi.” His eyes drink me in.
My stomach flutters. I know that look. I live for that look. “Hello, Mr. James.”
He’s tall, his presence taking over the small space, or maybe it’s just that his presence has taken over me.
He steps forward and takes my face into his hands. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you all fucking night.”
I smile dreamily up at the god. “Have you now?”
“Uh-huh.” His lips take mine with just the right amount of suction, his tongue slowly swirling against mine. “How was your day?” he whispers down at me.
“Better now.” I smile up at him.
Without thinking, he turns, picks up my jacket, and opens the wardrobe and puts it on a hanger. He collects my shoes and puts them neatly into my wardrobe. He straightens the things that I’ve messed up. The first few times he cleaned up after me, I didn’t like it. I took it as a controlling kind of behavior. But now I know that it’s just him and what he needs to do to be able to relax and be in the moment with me.
The more I get to know him, the more his little idiosyncrasies become endearing. They melt me on a deeper level. Remind me just how real and raw my unfiltered man is.
I love that he is reacting to us on autopilot now, doing what is instinctive to him and feels right.
And let’s face it, a man who cleans . . . What’s not to love about that?
He takes me into his arms again. “Shower.” His lips linger against mine as he kisses me, his hands pulling my hips onto his.
“Hen.” I ease back from him. “Wrong time of the month for that, remember?”
He kisses me once more. “I know.” His tongue gently coaxes mine to come out and play.
Oh . . . this man.
Behave.
I step back from him and head into the bathroom to take my makeup off. He follows me in and sits on the bathroom counter to watch me.
It’s the weirdest thing. It’s like he’s fascinated with the mundanities of my day. He watches everything I do with the greatest of interest. I can’t help but wonder if this is the first time he’s ever been like this with a woman. He seems captivated by everything I do. “Tell me about your day,” I say.
“I had meetings all morning, and then I went to lunch with Antony.” He takes my scrunchie from me and begins to pull my hair up into a high bun on top of my head.
“Where did you go for lunch?” I ask as I stay still.
“Bellissimo.” He tightens the bun on my head.
“Oh, Italian.” I smile. “Yum.”
“Have you ever been there?”
“No.” I put some makeup remover onto a pad and wipe one eye.
“I’ll take you there one day.” He takes the pad from me and does my other eye.
I watch him concentrate on his task. “Are you always like this?” I ask.
“Like what?” He tilts my chin toward him and softly kisses my lips.
“Have you ever taken anyone’s makeup off before?”
A frown flashes across his face as if he’s surprised by the question. “Does it bother you?”
“No.” I put my hands onto his hips as he sits in front of me. “That wasn’t what I asked.”
He stays silent as he wipes all my makeup off. “No. It’s not something . . .” His voice trails off.
Progress.
“I like the way you look after me,” I whisper.
And he does. The care that he looks after my body with is like nothing I’ve ever felt. He doesn’t say how he feels . . . but he doesn’t have to.
I can feel it in his touch.
He smirks down at me. “If I’m too extra . . .”
“You’ve got it just right.” I lean up and kiss him.
He smiles against my lips as he takes my face in his hands. Our kiss deepens, and for a long time we stay lost in the moment, kissing, drinking each other in, my heart floating around my bathroom.
He undoes my jeans and slides them down, his fingers circling over my sex through my panties.
“Hen,” I whisper against his lips.
“I know.” His eyes are closed as we kiss.
“We can’t.”
“Why not?” he breathes.
“It’s not . . .” I pause as I stop myself.
He pulls out of the kiss to look at me. “It’s not what?”
“That’s something you do”—I hesitate, embarrassed—“with your husband or boyfriend.”
He frowns as he listens.
“It’s . . . it’s way too intimate,” I whisper.
“You said you were mine.”
“I am.”
“So why can’t I have that?”
“Why would you even want it?” I frown.
“I don’t know.” His lips take mine again. “I just do.”