Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“Ah,” Simon says, scratching Xerxes behind the ears before tapping him on the head with two fingers when he growls at me again, this time lifting his lip to show tiny white teeth. “Well, this is Xerxes, my littlest friend and the biggest reason my apartment is never clean. Xerxes, this is Autumn, who is very beautiful. So be nice.”
“He’s um . . . friendly. Cute.”
“He thinks he’s an emperor,” Simon explains with a chuckle, “and I’m the sole inhabitant of his empire. He does have a bit of a temper, but he’ll warm up to you.”
Simon puts Xerxes down, who gives me a wary look as he walks around me, giving me a wide berth as though afraid I’m going to punt him across the room again. “I’m sorry, Xerxes. I hope you can forgive me?”
He sniffs and walks on, his nose in the air and booty wiggling left and right.
Simon picks up a folder from the kitchen counter. “Would you like to see the proofs from the shoot?”
“That sounds good.”
We sit on the couch as he spreads the 8x10s out across the coffee table. No matter what I look at, my eyes return to Simon, his strength and potency leaping from the photos. Regardless of the outfit, regardless of the pose, he makes it all look sexy as hell.
Because he’s sexy as hell. These could be photos of him in a brown paper bag and my nipples would still get hard. And the ones of him in the open shirt, staring at me off-set? I think I’m pregnant just from the picture alone.
Finally, I cup my cheeks with my hands, shaking my head. “I can’t decide! They’re all too good.”
“Non, non, you can do it,” Simon says encouragingly. “You’re thinking about it too much. Go with your gut. Which ones do your eyes return to repeatedly?”
That actually helps because while I want to look at them all—maybe plaster my apartment walls with them like TeenBeat magazine centerfolds—there are a few that I keep looking back to. I touch them quickly, calling them off. “Two, thirty-four, and forty.”
Simon lifts his brows and picks up the three I’ve selected. “Okay. Good choices.”
“That’s it?” I ask. I’m not sure what I thought would happen, but his response feels a bit anticlimactic for the pressure to select correctly I was feeling.
“Yes. I’ll send these and a few others to the photo department for retouching. Jacqueline will sign off on them, and then they’ll go back to Vogue Italia for publication.”
Rolling my eyes, I wave my hand dismissively. “Oh, is that all?”
Simon laughs at my sarcasm. “Just another day in the fashion industry. You should get used to it. It’s going to be your life as well.”
I can’t help but blush at the certainty in his voice. A compliment like that, the support it implies, is priceless to me. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
“You’re welcome, Autumn.”
Our eyes lock, and I think he’s going to kiss me. I even peek my tongue out to wet my lips as they part. His gaze drops, following the movement and reading the invitation there.
He stands suddenly, and for a second he sounds as shaky as I feel. “Champagne. To celebrate.”
When he disappears into the kitchen, I sit there in stunned silence. Did he just run away from me? What the hell happened to ‘let me worship you’?
A moment later, he returns with a bottle and two glasses. He makes quick and practiced work of opening and pouring the champagne. Handing me one, he sits down next to me again.
I lift my glass, declaring, “To popping my fashion director cherry!”
Simon clinks his glass against mine and we sip in unison. I watch closely as he sets his glass down and leans back, placing his arms along the back of the couch with his knees spread slightly. He looks utterly at ease. “I know what that means, you know.”
“You do?” I ask, surprised. I set my glass down on the coffee table too, making sure to avoid the folder of proofs.
Simon reaches up, loosening the knot of his tie and pulling it free. He lets it fall to his lap, then undoes the top two buttons of his shirt. I’m not sure whether I want him to stop or keep going. “It’s an American idiom for losing one’s virginity.”
I nearly choke on my own spit. “Uh, yeah. But it can mean other things too. Whatever you’re doing for the first time.” My fingers have found the soft silk of his tie, tracing the point.
“Would you like to do other things for the first time?” he asks me. His voice is rough, deeper than usual.
Do I? If we keep going, I know what’ll happen. We’ll kiss again . . . we’ll get out of our clothes . . . I’m going to want him to fuck me with the thick cock I know he has.