Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46914 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46914 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“She’s out this evening. She’ll be back late.”
He looks at me again, his intense eyes seeming to consume me. Of course, he can’t stare for long since he needs to focus on the road, but it feels like a long time.
It feels as though we spend an age gazing into each other’s eyes.
No man has ever looked at me like that before.
I study his side profile once he turns to the road, my sex getting tingling, my heart hammering, my soul aching.
It’s almost enough to make me want to do something crazy.
But then I remember her post, Kennedy’s, where she again explained how grateful she was that Weston saved her.
She called him my savior, and the comments were full of women saying how jealous they were.
I didn’t comment, but I knew how they felt.
And Weston could have any of them.
Kennedy, who he’s already slept with, most likely, and any of the women in the comments. And any woman in the world.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“It might piss you off,” I murmur.
“Try me.”
“I was thinking about how you could have any woman you wanted in the world. And I was thinking about Kennedy. But here you are… with me.”
He looks at me again. As he squeezes the steering wheel, his forearms are bulging, sinews of protective muscle.
His expression is so much more intense than in any of his movies. His jaw is clenched like he wants to crash the car instead of responding.
“Here I am,” he says after a moment. “With you.”
It’s not an answer, but I’m not in the mood to press him.
It’s so much easier over texts when I don’t have to look him in the eye, trying to sense his rage and everything else, all the emotions I struggle to read.
But he called me his woman.
And he’s driving me home.
I’d have to be pretty innocent to think nothing is happening here.
CHAPTER 11
Weston
There’s so much I want to tell Alice.
When she mentions Kennedy – a woman I’ve never even met, a woman who just so happened to be in the same restaurant as me – I want to explain everything.
I don’t want Kennedy, never have, never will.
It’s difficult to be in the same car as Alice, her closeness driving me to the edge, as I imagine sliding my hand up her thigh, pressing down between her legs, and feeling her wetness through her pants.
I’m starving for her wetness.
The heat of her perfect sex.
She got beautifully sassy when I called myself a dinosaur, and she mentioned Kennedy’s age.
Does that mean Alice doesn’t care about our age gap?
I pull up outside her apartment building, knowing it was a mistake to bring my car here. That’s the excuse I can use, I think, to not go up to Alice’s apartment.
She said she was alone tonight, at least for a while.
Her sister would be back late.
Alice’s hands move up and down her thighs. I think it’s a nervous gesture, but it provokes a lot of heat inside of me, a cascading compulsive wave of it, as I watch her hands smooth over her thick delicious legs.
I want to strip those pants away and bite down softly on her skin.
“This is me,” she says.
I laugh awkwardly. “I know.”
She reaches for the door, and despite my better nature, I say, “It would be rude not to invite me up.”
She looks at me with a playful smile, making my balls swell.
And then my mind skips ahead, to our future, to Alice aiming that same smile at our children.
That’s why my balls ache, feeling like they’re expanding with seed.
I want to make those children.
With her. Now.
“Aren’t you worried about your car?”
“I’ve got one hell of an alarm,” I tell her. “If anybody tries to steal it, I’ll hear.”
“And they’ll be sorry,” she says softly. “Like in the restaurant….”
There she goes again, veering close to the Kennedy issue.
I almost tell Alice the truth, but that thought holds me back – the one that tells me to be careful. Alice could be using me, as other women have tried.
But none have ever got this far, in my car with me, intoxicating me with their scent.
“Are you sure you want to come up?” she asks gently. “I mean, you can… but my apartment is kind of cruddy.”
“I’d never judge somebody for where they live. So it’s not for me, all that LA bullshit, all the flexing, preening, and peacocking.”
Her smile makes her cheeks tight and rosy like her happiness is bursting inside of her.
But it fades a second later, and I know what she’s thinking.
You could have anybody, she said.
I don’t want anybody. I want her.
“Uh… okay then. Let’s go.”
I open the car doors, walk around to her side and offer my hand. She stares up like she doesn’t believe it, making my balls ache even more at her innocent expression as if she can’t comprehend all the ways she belongs to me.