Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
“There’s that smile I love.” He presses his mouth against mine. My heart flutters at the word love coming from him. I want those words from him, which scares the crap out of me. We’ve gone from zero to a hundred in the blink of an eye.
It reminds me of how my mom is with the men she’s dating. She’s all in and then a few weeks later she’ll be over it and onto the next. I’ve always had the fear that I’d be that way. I push the thought away, not wanting to let my mind go there. I keep trying to come up with reasons Booker and I can’t be together. I need to enjoy the moment and the time I do have with him. It’s already too late for my heart at this point.
“What about you?” I ask, running my hands up his bare chest to wrap around his neck. His cock is pressed against my sex. I’m sure I’m getting him wet. Not that Booker cares. He’d think it was a badge of honor.
“I need to feed you.” I try to protest, but a doorbell sounds through the suite. “Right on time.” He presses his mouth against mine in one last kiss before he springs from the bed.
“Clothes!” I hiss at him when he starts to head out of the room. “It could be some girl. She’s not seeing all that.” I motion up and down his body with my hand.
“I like your possessive side.”
“You’re going to get it.” I growl at him.
“I already got it, and I’m going to get it again,” he teases me before grabbing a robe out of the bathroom. I slip off the bed and pull on his shirt that is lying on the floor before I follow after him.
When I step out of the room, I see it’s a man that brought the food. Booker is helping him set it out on the table.
“Morning ma’am,” the man says when he sees me standing there.
“Morning,” I say back. Booker glances over his shoulder. They are both staring at me. The playfulness drops from Booker’s handsome face, his eyes going to my bare legs.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” Booker snaps at the man. He jerks his head the other way. “You can go,” Booker dismisses him after he signs the check and all but pushes the man out of the hotel room.
“You don’t have anything on under there. I can see your nipples poking through.”
I put my hands over my breasts. “Oops?” I really hadn't noticed.
“Eat.” He points to one of the chairs.
“Are you mad at me?” I pull at the tie of his robe, enjoying the sight of him.
“No, but I am going to fuck the hell out of you after you eat to remind you this body is mine and only mine.”
I suck in a breath. “I think I’ll enjoy that reminder.” I smirk, dropping down into the chair. He mumbles something about me being the death of him before he sits down with me to eat.
“Nervous about the showcase tonight?”
“Actually, no,” I admit. I’d kind of forget about it there for a moment being so lost in Booker. Normally I’d be freaking out and unable to sleep. That wasn't the case this time. I’d slept wonderfully in bed with Booker. It’s going to suck when we have to go back home.
“Good, you have no reason to be.” He has such faith in me.
“Thank you for this.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m your man. This is what I do.”
“My man?”
“Eat,” he orders me again. I fight a smile, picking up my fork to dig into my breakfast. Excitement fills me. There is no dread or worry tonight. Whatever happens, happens. At least I’ll have Booker at my side.
Chapter Fifteen
Booker
“You squeeze your fingers any tighter and they’re going to fall off.” I pull into an empty parking space outside the exhibition hall and cover her hand with mine. “There’s no competition here. It’s an exhibition, right?”
Carrie stares out the window. “Maybe we should go home.”
“We will.”
“No. Like now.” She turns to me. “I’m feeling sick.” She brings my hand to her forehead. “Don’t I feel hot to you? Feverish?”
“Not really.”
She pushes my hand aside and presses a palm against her cheek. “I’m burning up. At least one hundred degrees. And I have stomach pains. My appendix could’ve just burst.”
I narrow my eyes. “If your appendix burst, you’d be screaming in pain.”
She opens her mouth, but before she can let out a fake scream, I say, “What’s going on here? It is an exhibition, right? It says it in the name—The Eighteenth Annual Cheshire Emerging Artist Exhibition.”
“It is but it isn’t.” She makes a funny face, frowning with her teeth clenched together. “No one is officially judged here, but the art is all for sale, so people know whose stuff is the best. Some of the artists, like Whitney, have buyers already. He sold his first work at thirteen and has a dedicated following, so he will sell all of his work for sure. And there are a couple of other artists who have sold before this show too. I shouldn’t have applied,” she wails.