Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“You don’t get sick of them?” she breathes, her hips shifting forward as she seeks more friction.
“Sick of what?” I ask, so mesmerized by the way her clit feels under my tongue—like a pearl I intend to shine until it gleams—I forget myself for a second.
I forget who I am, and what I do for a living. All I can think about is how she tastes and smells and how much I want to take her home with me, lock her in my bedroom, and keep her there for at least a week.
“Lady parts,” she says, her fingers in my hair now, clinging to me as I grind my face into her hot flesh. “Damn, Barrett, you’re so good at that. So crazy good.”
I groan against her, the vibration making her gasp and rock faster against my mouth. I slide two fingers inside her, nearly losing control in my pants as I feel how drenched she is. She may have been keeping her distance lately, but Wren clearly still wants me as much as I want her.
And she’s desperate for release. I can feel it in the way her thighs tremble beside my face and the plaintive whimper at the back of her throat as she begs, “Please, please never stop. Please. Oh God, Barrett. Oh my God.”
“Come for me,” I rumble against her skin, kissing her harder, deeper. “Come on my mouth, Wren. I want your taste all over me.”
Her spine arches, and she shudders against me as she comes. I stay where I am, riding out her orgasm with her, relishing the salty heat of her release on my tongue. Only when she’s limp and panting against the sink, do I gently guide her panties back on, rise to my feet, and say, “Your parts aren’t lady parts. They’re Wren parts, and therefore, one of a kind. I doubt I’d ever get tired of them.”
She blinks, clearly confused for a second, before her gaze softens. “That’s sweet.”
“It’s true, which is even better.”
Her brow furrows as she pulls on her bra, hooking it behind her back. “It is. And I know you’re a big fan of honesty. So, tell me the truth, Barrett. Why did you run away that night? After we were together?”
“I didn’t run,” I hedge, not mentally prepared for this discussion. I’m still so hard, the front of my pants are an embarrassment and the taste of Wren on my tongue makes it impossible to think about anything but being inside her.
“I was in the bathroom for two minutes,” she counters as she tugs her sweater on and runs a quick hand through her hair. “Maybe less. You had to have sprinted out of here like a track star.”
“I played basketball in college,” I say, earning a completely justified “are you kidding me” brow arch from Wren. I exhale, “I don’t know. I guess I thought it was best to leave before you got angry with me again. You were being so…unreasonable.”
She frowns, sharply and suddenly. “What? In what way was I being unreasonable?”
“It felt like I couldn’t say anything right.” Kind of like right now. “And then we got here, and things clearly went very right, so…I thought it would be smart to leave while we were in a good place.”
She crosses her arms and lifts her chin. “Okay, we’ll pretend that’s an okay thing to do. It’s not, but we’ll pretend that it’s cool to ghost a woman right after you’ve had sex for the first time, without saying goodbye.”
Well, when she puts it that way, it does sound awful. I start to explain again that I didn’t intend to upset her, when she adds, “Why didn’t you call when you got home? Or at the very least the next morning?”
“I was tired when I got home and busy the next morning.”
“You were in your breakfast nook reading the paper at ten a.m. I saw you,” she says. “Yes, I stalked you a tiny little bit and I’m not sorry about it. Because now I know that you’re a liar. You weren’t busy. You were sipping coffee and relaxing like it was any other Saturday and not the first Saturday after we had unprotected sex against a wall.”
“You said you were on the pill,” I say, concern tightening my chest.
“I am, but I had to go over to Tatum’s place to get them since I was planning to sleep there, originally. So, I was up for hours after you were in Snoozeland, making sure we didn’t accidentally get pregnant. Meanwhile, you couldn’t be bothered to make a phone call before you had twelve cups of coffee and read the entire paper.”
“I was giving you time to cool off. I texted you just before noon, but you’d already blocked my number,” I say. “Which was immature and supremely irritating, by the way.”