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)
I grin wickedly. “Or—and hear me out on this—we could say you’re not feeling well and ditch this popsicle stand right now, hightail it straight to your house, and fuck like amorous rabbits in every room of your house, all night long.”
Selena giggles, but, unfortunately, she shakes her head. “Patience, my love. We have far too much to celebrate tonight, and too many people who rightfully want to revel in today’s launch with you, to leave this party prematurely.”
I exhale. She’s right, of course.
“The silver lining,” Selena adds, “is that anticipation can be a very sensual thing. It builds tension and excitement, which ultimately makes the sex even hotter.”
“If you say so, Hot Teacher.”
“Oh, I do, my little Grayson-hopper. You’ll see.”
With a sexy little smirk, she grabs my hand and pulls me toward the restaurant. But once we’re inside, she stops walking long before we’ve reached our table, causing me to follow suit.
“Honey,” she says with a crook of her finger. When I lean in, she adds, “Speaking of anticipation making things hotter . . . Throughout dinner, every time I squeeze your thigh underneath the table, it’ll mean I’m thinking in that very moment, in graphic detail, about how much I can’t wait to ‘teabag’ your balls when we get back to my house.”
My mouth hangs open and my dick tingles. “Uh . . .”
Without waiting to hear whatever gibberish might come out of my mouth next, Selena saunters ahead of me toward our table, chuckling and swinging her hips, while I stagger behind her, the woman of my dreams, the love of my life, the last stop on my train, with a huge smile on my face, a massive boner in my pants, and my tongue practically dragging on the floor.
13
GRAYSON
“Turn left up here,” Selena says, two seconds before the navigation app on my phone echoes the same instruction.
We’re in my car, driving the route to Selena’s address. And I can’t help noticing we’re headed toward an extremely affluent neighborhood, one with notably large, pricey homes overlooking Puget Sound. Does Selena live over here, or are we merely passing through?
I guess I should have pictured her living in a swanky neighborhood like this, seeing as how she was married to Andre De La Torre for twelve years. He’s a flashy guy who obviously likes showing off his wealth. But Selena mentioned she’d bought her current house after her divorce, so I guess I let myself imagine her living in a normal, pretty house with her son and dog. I probably imagined her having a formal dining room, or a fancy living room she never uses, in addition to the usual living spaces—but certainly, I never pictured Selena living in a truly jaw-dropping house, the type that probably has a maid’s quarters or guest house, like the enormous homes with perfect landscaping we’re currently passing.
After a couple more turns, all the questions in my head are answered when Selena—and the navigation app—both direct me to turn into the driveway of a stunning two-story home. Selena’s house isn’t quite as large as some of the massive estates we’ve passed. But it’s definitely not small. And with its location right on the water, not to mention the strikingly sprawling plot of land marked off by its perimeter fence, there’s no way Selena’s house wouldn’t command a multi-million-dollar price tag.
“This is pretty,” I murmur as I park my car in the circular driveway. It’s an understatement. A bit of deadpan humor. By any measure, this house is stunning. The kind I’ve never imagined I’d get to enter in my lifetime, let alone sleep overnight in, especially at the invitation of the great love of my life.
“Thank you,” Selena says in earnest, apparently not understanding my attempt at understated humor. “It’s my dream home.”
“I can see why.” I turn to look at Selena in my passenger seat, and the warm smile on her face chases away my nerves. Who cares where she lives, or how big her bank balance might be? No matter what, Selena is still the same loving, grounded, kind-hearted woman I’m head over heels in love with. Nothing, literally nothing, not even the fact that she lives in a mini-mansion I could never afford to give her in a hundred lifetimes could possibly change that.
“The bad news,” I say, “is that I don’t think we’re going to be able to pull off fucking like amorous rabbits in every room of your house in one night, like I suggested at the restaurant, no matter how hard we try. That job is going to take at least a full week. Maybe more.”
Selena winks. “It’ll be fun trying, though.” She touches my forearm. “Is there good news, though?”
“Yeah, I was going to say the good news is that it’ll be fun trying, but you stole my thunder.”