Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
With a scowl on my face, I grab my phone, google the words he’s directed, and gasp out loud when the explanation appears on my screen. “How have I never heard the name of that sex act before?” I blurt.
“Because you were never a teenage boy who spent half his life on the internet. Chin up, though. Even if you’ve never heard the term ‘tea-bagging’ before, you’ve most definitely performed the act like a motherfucking champ.”
“Grayson McKnight.”
Again, Grayson laughs uproariously. “This is so you. You’re effortlessly hot as fuck, without even realizing it. Which is exactly why you’re the cotton candy to my cottonballs, Selena Diaz. The bread to my impossibly hard banana. The pulchritudinous, blue sky to my penis-shaped cloud with a throbbing, wet tip.”
I can’t help laughing along with him. “And I’m the raunchy one? Holy hell, Grayson.”
“What can I say, baby? You turn me on.”
I sigh. “You’re so much better at this game than me. I really need to keep a journal of ideas, so I can step it up next time.”
“Hey, you’re the one who casually dropped a reference to sucking my balls, not me.”
“Grayson McKnight. Stop it! You’re making me blush.”
“No, I’m not. You’re far too talented at sucking my balls not to be loud and proud of your mad skills.”
“Hush.” I lower my voice, even though my bathroom door is shut and there’s no way my son could possibly hear me, even if he happened to be walking past my bedroom at this very moment. “I admit I’m a freak in the sheets who thoroughly enjoys ‘teabagging’ her hunky man behind closed doors, but that doesn’t mean I want to discuss it.”
Grayson snorts. “Such a lady.”
“Yes, in the streets. Don’t pretend you don’t know how this game is played. Now, stop making me blush for real, because I need to figure out where to apply fake blush to my cheeks.”
I perform my task as Grayson continues chatting happily about how adorable and sexy I am. When I’m finished with my makeup, I grab my phone, take it off speaker, and walk into my bedroom, intending to quickly throw on the little black dress that’s already laid out on my bed. For some reason, though, I freeze with the dress in my hands and survey my bedroom, trying to see it through Grayson’s eyes.
I look at my immaculately hand-carved bedroom furniture, a stunning set I had imported from Italy after seeing it in a craftsman’s showroom during a Tuscan vacation. I take in the sitting area in the corner that’s appointed with lush armchairs and a roaring fireplace and surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows featuring a spectacular view of Puget Sound. And once again, I feel anxious about showing Grayson this aspect of my life.
I fantasize often about inviting Grayson to my home, whenever Drew is at his father’s. I ache to make love to Grayson in my own, comfy bed and make him breakfast in my gourmet kitchen the next morning. I’d love to watch Grayson playing fetch with Daisy in the backyard. I imagine myself snuggling with him on the couch downstairs while watching a movie or sipping cocktails with Grayson in my hot tub and then fucking him senseless in the warm water.
But what if finally relenting and inviting Grayson into my home would somehow throw our magical relationship off-kilter? I’ve heard all about Grayson’s humble upbringing. How hard it was for his single mother to make ends meet. What if seeing the luxury and splendor of my home—the views, the home gym and wine cellar, the formal dining room and spare bedrooms converted into glamorous walk-in closets—would intimidate Grayson or make him feel insecure about his bank account? I don’t want to risk ruining a good thing. Not when I’ve found the greatest happiness of my life with Grayson, exactly as things are right now.
Grayson exhales loudly, cutting through the long silence between us. “Sweetheart, I’m not asking to come over there to pressure you in any way. I’m only asking because I genuinely want to know everything about you.”
As my heart pounds, I sit on the edge of my bed with the phone pressed against my ear. I open my mouth, aching to tell him okay, yes, he can come pick me up right now, but the words simply won’t form.
“You still there?” Grayson asks.
“Yes. Sorry. I was . . . contemplating.”
“I don’t have to meet Drew yet,” he says. “I fully respect that you want to wait for our one-year anniversary for that next step. But when Drew’s not home, couldn’t I come over, even if it’s only to pick you up for a date?” He pauses, waiting for me to reply, and when I don’t, he forges ahead, apparently sensing he’s making headway. “Baby,” Grayson says softly, “I’m dying to see how you’ve decorated your place. I want to see the framed photos and books on your shelves.” His voice turns low and sexy. “I want to rifle through your underwear drawer—and maybe even your hamper—and steal your sexiest pair of panties to add to my paltry little collection.”