Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” she said, like she was surprised by the compliments.
“And you’re brave,” I went on. “Kicking that asshole to the curb when you knew it would mean losing everything? Confronting him the way you did yesterday? Standing up for yourself? A lot of people in your situation might have broken down and begged. You stood your ground. I was fucking blown away.”
“You were?”
“Yes.” Unable to help myself, I slid my hand down between her legs, finding her warm and wet. “Also, you are unbelievably hot. And have I mentioned your spectacular blow job skills?”
“No.” She moaned softly as I rubbed her clit.
“Unrivaled in the history of all blow jobs,” I told her. “I. Saw. God.”
She slung one leg back over my hip, opening her thighs wider. “Think your dad will mind if you’re a little late this morning?”
“I’ve given him a lot of years. He can give me twenty extra minutes.”
“This won’t even take twenty minutes,” she said breathlessly. “You know how to make me come so fast . . . I don’t know what kind of magic you’ve got in those hands, but I like it.”
I got her off with my fingers, and it was so hot watching her pale skin flush with color and hearing her desperate cries and feeling her grow hotter and wetter that I nearly came too, my aching cock pressed against her perfect round ass.
While she caught her breath, I rolled away from her just long enough to grab a condom and tear open the packet. “So you know that yoga pose you do where you’re on your hands and knees and you sort of arch your back and stick your butt out?”
She laughed, watching me roll on the condom. “Yes . . .”
“Could you please do that right now and I’ll show you what I think about doing every fucking time I see you out there in the yard?”
Grinning, she flipped onto her stomach, popped onto her hands and knees, and arched her back. Then she looked over at me, her expression coy and seductive. “Is this the one?”
“Yes. Fuck, that’s hot.” Quickly, I got to my knees behind her and eased my cock into her tight, wet pussy. After only a few slow thrusts, I felt the climax beginning to build. I grabbed a fistful of her hair with one hand and gripped her hip with the other. “Jesus Christ. You know what? I might not even be late today. In fact, I might be early.”
The last thing I heard before I lost control was her deep, sexy laugh.
I couldn’t remember when I’d felt so good.
When I got home from work that evening, three things greeted me at the back door. First was the sound of Latin music playing, which I heard through the screens as I approached the house and grew louder as I entered the kitchen.
Second was the delectable aroma of barbecue sauce, which made my stomach growl with hungry anticipation the moment I stepped into the kitchen.
Third was the sight of Veronica dancing with her back to me as she chopped lettuce at the counter, her bare feet moving in a rhythmic pattern, her hips swiveling to the beat. She wore denim shorts and that halter top she’d removed in the window, and her hair was tucked up in a messy knot on the top of her head. The music was so loud, she hadn’t heard me come in, and I stood there for a moment, undetected, in a sort of mesmerized stupor.
My senses were overwhelmed. My mouth watered. I might have moaned.
Veronica set the knife aside and scooped up the lettuce with her hands, dumping it into two wide, shallow bowls. Once I could tear my eyes from her, I noticed two large chicken breasts, smothered in glistening barbecue sauce, resting on a foil-lined baking sheet near the stove. They didn’t appear burnt or undercooked. Next to the bowls was a cutting board with a pile of halved cherry tomatoes and a clump of chopped herbs.
Veronica turned around and shrieked. “Oh! You scared me!”
“Sorry,” I said with a grin, setting my keys and wallet aside. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. It smells fantastic.”
“Good.” She turned down the music. “How was your day?”
“The usual.” I took off my work boots and left them on the rug.
“Talk to the kids at all? How are they?”
“They’re great. Dad and I FaceTimed with them.” I gave her a quick kiss and went over to the sink to wash my hands. “What’s for dinner?”
“Barbecue chicken salad. It’s not coq au vin,” she said. “But Pioneer Woman calls it one of her go-to summer recipes.”
“Pioneer Woman?” As I dried my hands, I checked out what was on the stove. On one gas burner was a large skillet full of black beans and corn. A small saucepan, empty now, looked like it might have contained the barbecue sauce.