Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I’d landed on shrimp risotto.
“You can leave it out,” she said as I attempted to put things away in the fridge. “I need to devein the shrimp.”
When I’d picked her up this evening, our first stop had been a grocery store. When I’d told her I was buying—since it was the least I could do—she asked me what my budget was. Shopping with her had been surprisingly fun. I liked that she was so picky when she was selecting produce, and how whenever she scrutinized a product, her eyebrows would pull together like she was doing deep work.
She looked so cute like that.
Unlike last time, this recipe did call for wine, and since I wasn’t much of a wine guy, I grabbed the one she told me to and added it to our cart. It was ironic that she wasn’t old enough to drink and yet she was the one giving me advice.
That thought reminded me. I needed to text Patrick soon and see if he’d made any progress on that favor I’d asked him for.
As I set the package of raw shrimp on the counter, Sydney popped the lid on her plastic container and pulled out a roll of fabric. I was disappointed for a moment, until she began to carefully unroll it. It was the same apron she’d worn the last time she’d cooked for me, and she’d used it to cushion the set of knives she’d packed.
“I’ve got something for you.” I grinned. “And before you ask, no, it’s not my penis.”
She glanced up at me with surprise. “What?”
I went to the pantry and retrieved the box I’d wrapped in the same black wrapping paper I’d used to wrap the vibrator. I had a ton of it left over that a client didn’t want after the retirement party Distinguished Events had coordinated a few months ago.
Her movements slowed to a stop as she eyed the long, narrow box. Was she worried this was another vibrator to add to her collection? I’d sent her home with the other one after our last lesson.
You mean, the one where you came in less than ten minutes?
I tried to convince myself that at least she’d gotten a realistic experience of what it would be like if it was the guy’s first time, too. My first time, I’d only made it a few pumps before it was over.
But I was disappointed in my performance and was looking forward to doing better tonight. After dinner, I’d take her down to my room, get her naked, and see how many unassisted orgasms I could give her.
My dick perked up, wanting me to persuade her to skip dinner and head down to my bed right now, but instead, I tossed the box down on the counter. It slid across the smooth granite, coming to a stop right in front of Sydney.
“It’s not my birthday,” she said.
I shrugged. “It’s a ‘thank you’ for being my private chef tonight.”
She picked up the box and judged its weight. “Your dad’s home. Do I need to open this in your room?” Distrust made her eyes narrow. “Is it educational?”
I laughed and shook my head. “It’s not.”
When she’d learned my dad was home, she’d gotten mad I hadn’t mentioned it while we were shopping. She could cook enough for three people if she’d known to buy more portions, but I’d told her there was no need. He was on call, so the chance of my dad having to leave before dinner was ready was extremely high.
I was honestly surprised his car was still here when we arrived at the house. He was off in his bedroom, probably sleeping or catching up on emails since Cassidy was hanging out with her friend Lilith.
Sydney slipped a finger under the tape and popped up a corner of the wrapping paper. As she tore the rest of it off, my pulse sped.
I couldn’t argue this gift was an impulse buy in the traditional sense. I found myself at various times during the day thinking about her, and random shit too. Not just thoughts about how hot she was, or how sex with her was off-the-charts, but I wondered, like, what she was doing at that exact moment or how her day was going.
Most of all, I was curious if she thought about me as much as I did about her.
It wasn’t a conscious decision to buy the knife roll for her. After one of our text exchanges about planning dinner tonight, she’d mentioned that she didn’t have one yet. It’d been a casual, offhand comment, but suddenly I found myself on Amazon, searching for the perfect one for her.
She opened the tan box and pulled out the contents, not understanding what it was until she took it out of its plastic sleeve. The black canvas bag had two straps around it to hold it closed when rolled up, but when it was flat, there were slots inside to store a chef’s tools.