Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Are we stuck in this house the whole time we’re here?” I ask, slipping under the blankets and getting comfortable on the pillows.
“Got somewhere you want to go?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I flipped through this booklet about the island while you took your marathon shower to avoid me earlier, and there’s this charming little village with a coffee shop and a bookstore not too far from here. I thought maybe we could explore it one day.”
He’s clearly bothered by this but doesn’t want an argument. “Maybe. Let’s see what happens.”
Good enough. “What do you usually do at night?”
“Depends where I am.”
“Right. Okay. What if you’re home?”
He drops to the floor and begins pumping out push-ups. I peer over the end of the bed to watch. His back muscles ripple with each movement, and I wonder why someone hasn’t videotaped this and sold it online as porn. Because this little show makes me as wet as anything.
Damn.
“What are you doing?” I ask, laughing.
“I didn’t get a workout in today.”
I snort. “I think you’ll be just fine missing one workout.”
He pushes his body up and down with what looks like very little effort.
“What if you’re home?” I ask again.
“If I’m home, I change clothes. I like to work out before I eat if I can help it. Grab a shower. Then I sit in the living room or bed and read a book or watch television.”
“What do you read?”
He groans, breathing harder as he bangs out a few more push-ups. Then he rocks back and sits on his knees. “What do I read?” He shrugs. “It depends. I like biographies. Fiction. I also really like those coffee table books on specific topics.”
“You’re so surprising.”
“What?” He smiles. “Did you think I didn’t read?”
“No. It’s just when I think you couldn’t possibly get any hotter, you find a way to throw more gas on the fire.”
His smile turns mischievous. “I’m hot, huh?”
“I think we’re beyond pretending like we aren’t attracted to each other.”
“Fair enough. What do you do at night?”
My cheeks flame, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face.
“What?” he asks, grinning. “Tell me.”
I try to answer him with a response that leaves out masturbating while imagining him doing dirty things to me as the last thing I do. But the amusement on his face, like he suspects the truth, keeps me from speaking.
“Doll …”
I wiggle deeper under the blankets. “I go to yoga or Pilates. Go home. Eat with Burt half the time.”
“Burt?”
“My neighbor. He’s in his midseventies, and we’re best neighbors, he says. He doesn’t have kids and isn’t married, and I feel bad for the guy. I don’t think he has a lot of extra cash, so I bring enough dinner home or cook enough for both of us most nights.”
Troy gets to his feet and stretches. “That’s really nice of you.”
“I don’t do it for an atta girl.”
“I didn’t say you did. But it’s still nice of you.” He sits on the edge of the bed. “What do you do after you eat?”
“Shower. Get my picture taken, apparently.”
His eyes darken.
“Then watch a cooking show or read a romance novel. Sometimes, I pretend I’m going to meal prep, and I make these specific menus that look amazing on paper. I’ve never once used them.”
He laughs.
“That’s it. I’m incredibly boring,” I say.
“Tell me more about your romance novels. Are they filthy? Pure smut? What kind of things are you into?”
My throat tightens as a flame is lit to my libido. Troy in sweats and no shirt is one thing. Troy in sweats, no shirt—sans push-ups—and wanting me to discuss smut is a whole different animal.
“It’s a little of everything,” I say, watching his reactions closely. I squeeze my thighs to help quell the ache building there. “Sometimes I go for the sweet, small-town boys. Other times, I’m into the billionaire bad boys.” I smirk. “I have moments where I want erotica and read it just for the sex.”
“I see.” He shifts his weight on the bed. “What’s the hottest thing you’ve ever read?”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
I laugh. “There’s no way to pick just one. They’re all so different.” I hold his gaze. “Now, if you’re asking me what I think is hot in real life, that’s a different story.”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
His tone is low and gravelly, scraping over my flesh. I shiver beneath the blankets and wonder how far I can push this conversation … and if I should. He’s the one who put the brakes on earlier. He’s made it clear that we need boundaries—and he’s not wrong. But this feels so natural. It feels so damn good. He has to know he’s throwing fuel on the fire.
I glance at him and find him smirking.
Fine. I’ll toss a match on your gasoline.
“I don’t mind a little choking,” I say, smirking back at him. “A little spanking. I think it’s hot when the guy lets you know what they enjoy so you can please them and then have him tell you how good you are.”