Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“You’re probably the only man I know who keeps tissues next to his bed.”
“I’m sure there are quite a few guys who keep tissues at their bedside, for a myriad of reasons,” he said inanely, relieved to hear the teasing note in her voice.
“I’m sorry for turning into a gooey mess on you.”
“There you go, apologizing again.”
“Then allow me to thank you.”
“For?” he asked, baffled.
“Seriously? You don’t know? You couldn’t tell?”
“No, what?”
“That was the first time . . .” She paused and he frowned. “That was the first time anybody has ever done that for me.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I shit you not.”
“What kind of fucking morons have you been dating?”
“Selfish ones,” she said, her voice slurring a bit. Her hand reached down between them, dipped beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms and found his throbbing cock with unerring accuracy. He sucked in a startled breath, releasing it again with a soft groan. “You didn’t finish.”
“Because I never started,” he said, not sure if the words made sense at all—nothing currently made sense to him except that firm grip on his hot, painful erection. She slid her hand up to the sensitive tip and then all the way back down to his aching balls. He allowed her a few more strokes—he was only human, after all—before his hand closed over hers, tightening for a brief moment, and he relished the feel of the tighter grip on his shaft. He pulled her hand away gently, lifting it out from beneath the covers and dropping a kiss into her palm. “We’re both exhausted, darling. Go to sleep.”
“But I want to make you feel good, too,” she whispered, sounding exhausted but a little vexed at the same time.
“I appreciate that, but what would make me feel good right now is sleep. Just sleep. With you in my arms. Okay?”
“This is just sex, Spencer,” she felt obligated to remind him, and he rolled his eyes before turning to switch off the bedside lamp. He quickly gathered her back into his arms and she settled into them with a happy sigh.
“Just sex. Got it.” Over his dead body.
“I like it when you call me that.” She sounded all but gone by now.
“What?”
“Darling. I like that. It’s old-fashioned and sweet.”
“Good. Because I like calling you that, and I’m not about to stop.”
She yawned.
“Good night, Spencer.”
“Daff?”
“Hmm?”
“No regrets, okay?”
“No regrets.” He kissed the top of her head and, ignoring his angry, demanding penis, settled down to sleep.
Of course, she had regrets, big-time regrets. They hit the second she opened her eyes just three hours later. She was alone in the king-size bed, but Spencer’s side of it still retained some of his body heat, and she sighed softly before stretching languorously.
Her mind was screaming, oh fuck what have I done! while her body was purring, hmm more, yes please! It was confusing, and she wasn’t exactly certain how she felt this morning. All she knew was that it was seven in the morning, she’d allowed Spencer certain intimate liberties just a few hours ago, and she had to get out of here and get ready for work. Preferably before the whole town woke up and saw her do the drive of shame from Spencer’s place back to her home.
She looked around for the robe she’d been wearing but couldn’t find it anywhere and then blushed hotly when she recalled that it had come off while she lay sprawled on Spencer’s kitchen counter. She had been naked when he carried her to his bedroom. She saw his discarded pajamas at the foot of the bed and dragged the top on. It fell to just above her knees and the sleeves ended well below her fingertips. But it smelled of his spicy, masculine scent, and she tugged the collar to her nose to inhale deeply. Okay, so maybe the regrets were waning a bit—there were definite positives to this situation.
The hardwood floor was cold beneath her bare feet as she padded her way out of the bedroom and downstairs to the living area. She found Spencer in the kitchen behind the island, sweeping up shards of ceramic that she recognized as the cups they had used last night. She must have unknowingly swept them off the counter. She went bright red at the thought and could barely look at the counter without blushing even more.
Spencer caught sight of her, and his eyebrows went all the way up into his hairline at the sight of her in his pajama top.
“Morning,” she murmured self-consciously, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
“Morning,” he replied, dropping the shards of glass into the recycle bin and rounding the island to stand in front of her. He was dressed for work already, and he dug into one of his jacket pockets for something. “I wanted to hang on to this in case I had some kind of hair-related emergency in the future. But you look like you need it.”