Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Huh?” I slip my hands to her hips and turn her to face me. “I told you to come see me anytime.” I stroke my knuckles over her cheek. “I get that it makes you uncomfortable. And I want you to understand I have nothing to hide. You have an open invitation to sneak attack me whenever you want.”
“I really like you,” she whispers.
Fear thumps through my chest. She doesn’t sound happy about it. “I like you too.” I cup her chin, tipping her head. “It was brave of you to stop in. By yourself.”
“Definitely the last place I thought I’d ever find myself.” A tight smile curves her lips. “Agitation said I looked like I was from the corporate office.”
One corner of my mouth quirks. I tease my fingers under the hem of her shirt until my knuckles brush against her stomach. “I liked that blouse on you. Couldn’t stop thinking about taking you home and undoing those buttons, one by one.”
She lets out a nervous laugh. “In a club—”
I press my finger against her lips. “Do not say any variation of ‘with all the naked dancers, you thought the blouse was hot.’ Don’t question me when I tell you something. Understand?”
Her eyes widen. “Is this?” she mumbles, and I remove my finger from her lips, allowing her to finish. She slicks her tongue over her lips. “Phew, for a minute, I thought that was a blink once for yes, two for no situation.”
“It will be if you keep arguing with me every time I tell you something.”
She pulls her shoulders back and lifts her chin. “I wasn’t arguing. More like, clarifying.”
I grip her waist and lift her onto the counter, pressing my body between her knees.
“You want clarity?” How do I express this without sounding like I want to tattoo property of Dex on her forehead? “How’s this? If I actually prayed to any higher power, I couldn’t ask for anyone more perfect than you.”
I absently tug on the ends of her hair.
She tilts her head and presses her lips against the palm of my hand. “I’m not a natural redhead.”
“Huh?” I stop and stare. “I’m not talking about your hair, Emily.” I rough my hand over the top of her head. She squeals and bats my hand away.
“I’m just saying, this,” she flips her hair over her shoulder, “is salon bought. Celia is a genius with color.”
“Dye it purple. I don’t give a fuck,” I growl. How’d we end up here? I was trying to tell her something serious. Ah, fuck. Maybe that’s the problem. “Am I getting too intense, too soon, for you?” I ask.
Her smile fades. “No. I think you’re pretty perfect too. I just don’t want you to think I’m…I don’t want to end up disappointing you.”
Whoever made her feel this way needs to be smacked with a fucking hammer. “You could never disappoint me.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
Why is that peeved lilt to her voice such a fucking turn-on? Even when she’s frustrating, I want to fuck her senseless.
“So, buttons, huh?” She hooks a finger in the neckline of her sweatshirt and tugs. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Frustrated, aroused, and amused in the space of ten minutes. This woman’s a fucking rollercoaster.
And after so many years of not feeling much of anything, I really enjoy the ride.
CHAPTER FORTY
Emily
“You know what, smart-ass?” Dex presses his hand between my legs, cupping me through my pajama pants. “I already suspected you might not be a natural redhead.”
My puff of laughter turns into a squeak of surprise as he grinds the heel of his hand right over my clit. I inhale a quick, shaky breath. “Oh, yeah?” I aim for a breezy tone, but it’s negated by the moan that follows.
With his free hand, he tugs the drawstring of my pants loose. Staring into my eyes, almost as if challenging me or asking for permission, he slips his hand under the waistband and glides right over my center.
He squeezes his eyes shut and groans. “No underwear. Soaking wet. Fuck.”
His fingers slide though my wetness, teasing and testing. Taking his sweet time gently working me up.
“Dex,” I whisper urgently, curling my fingers in his shirt. “Not…not here.” I glance at the kitchen door, and then the back windows that we’ve never bothered to cover with curtains or anything.
He presses his forehead to mine. “Where?”
Damn, he knows I’m hesitant to go upstairs because of my sister. And respects it. How can he have that feral look in his eyes but still be so understanding? I’m ready to melt into a puddle at his feet.
I slide off the counter, standing on shaky legs and take his hand, pulling him around the edge of the long counter, to the right and into the small laundry room off the kitchen.
I’m behind on laundry and hurry to throw a basket of clean, unfolded towels on the floor.