Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 129427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
I revised that opinion, when I realized what a great view it gave me.
Neil stood beneath the spray, his hair slicked back from his face. The single overhead light cast shadows on his body, deepening the lines of muscle in his back and legs. But the best part of catching Neil in the shower was, hands down, the loud, awful singing. I’d always remembered him as being composed and crushingly cool, and interrupting his secret bathroom rock star moment completely destroyed all that. He was just a guy, with the same goofy habits and bad shower singing the rest of us had. I was so relieved to discover this, I giggled to myself, and he turned his head, startled. His momentary expression of shock immediately transformed into bashful laughter as he wiped water from his eyes.
“I’m fairly certain that spying on a coworker in the shower is against the Porteras sexual harassment policy.” He turned off the water and reached out for a towel to wrap around his waist.
“I think fingering them on your desk might also be a no-no. I’m not saying that two wrongs make a right...” I lost my train of thought as he came toward me, towel riding low on his hips. He reached for me, and I dodged him. “No! You’re all wet. And I have takeout downstairs, so don’t dawdle.”
I hurried to the living area, where I started unpacking cartons from the plastic bags I’d carried it in. Neil was down just a few moments later, barefoot, bare chested, clad only in his black cotton sleep pants. He leaned over my shoulder, hair still dripping from the shower.
“What is all this?” he asked, dropping a quick, wet kiss on my neck. I squealed and tilted my head away to avoid the now cold drops clinging to him.
“It’s me, paying you back for the burgers the other night. I hope you like greasy, bad Chinese.” I popped one of the containers open and inhaled the scent of syrupy orange chicken.
“The worse, the better.” He sat on the couch, grinning up at me. “You look like you’re feeling well again.”
“I am.” I gave him a little smile. “I’m sorry about earlier, I was such a complete ass.”
“No, no, it was my fault, entirely.” His brows drew together. “I sometimes mistake your... enthusiasm for experience. I know that you’re game to try new things, and that excites me. This time, to the point where I didn’t exercise good judgment.”
“I’m not usually that emotional about sex. I’m pretty good at shutting down that part of me entirely.” Put bluntly like that, it sounded sort of pathetic. “What I mean—”
“Don’t be silly, Sophie. I don’t want you to completely separate your emotions from sex.” His tone softened. “In my experience it doesn’t make for very good sex. Happiness, at the very least, should be an emotional side effect of sex.”
He had me there. I’d never had anything close to a great sex life, only just serviceable. I sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I was emotional. I was emotional about sex with you. It’s just... I feel like I’ve been sober for six years, and now I’ve fallen off the wagon. I’m completely hooked on you. It’s terrifying.”
“Agreed.” He reached for my hand and pulled me down to sit beside him. It felt strange to have all my clothes on, pressed against his bare skin. I’d come over in some tight-legged jeans and a striped blue sweater, totally casual, but I still managed to somehow be overdressed.
“I feel the same way. It is a heady thing, and confusing, when I’m trying to separate you from the Sophie who’s been on my mind for six years.” He laced our fingers together as he continued, “I had the two of you mixed-up this morning. I sprang some very rough play on you, in an unusual setting, without consulting you first. I’m very sorry, and if you do wish to continue this relationship, you can trust me not to make the same mistake in the future.”
“If I wish to continue?” I sat up a bit, alarmed, my elbow braced against the low back of the sofa. “If?”
“I never want you to feel trapped with me,” he admitted. “And I don’t want you to forge ahead as my submissive despite misgivings. If at any time you find this arrangement isn’t working, I want you to be comfortable telling me, whether you want to remove just the submission element or get out entirely. I’m not going to do anything vindictive or extreme about it.”
I kicked off my ballet flat and ran my painted toes over his big, bare foot. “I read about that orgasm denial thing, in The Big Book of Kink. I thought that was what you were doing. But it’s supposed to be a punishment, right?”