Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
I need that. But first, I want this moment where I can set the pace. He gives it to me, as if he’s holding open the door to this kiss and letting me walk through in my own time. Slowly, taking my time, I cross the threshold, indulging in another sweep of my lips against his.
Then, once I’m inside, he kicks the door closed. As he takes over the kiss, his checked restraint unspools. He slides his hands down my arms, exploring me, and around my waist. Those strong hands curl around my hips, then dig in. His thumb presses hard into the bone, firm and insistent. I like that—the possessiveness in his touch. I break the kiss long enough to whisper a desperate command: “Kiss me more.”
He groans, his blue eyes dark and fiery. His voice is a heady growl as he says, “You taste like cinnamon and dirty dreams.”
I smile, feeling like the naughty girl I am.
Sliding his tongue over mine, he explores my mouth at a greedy, hungry pace. My body crackles with electricity from head to toe. I have to get closer to him, so I press flush against his toned frame. That makes me dizzy. I rub my thigh against his hard-on, like a little thief, stealing a preview of his firm length against me.
Milo laughs softly. “I know what you just did.”
I laugh too. “Aren’t you astute?”
“You tried to cop a feel,” he says, his voice still raspy.
“Tried? I think I did cop a feel.”
He reaches for my hand, threads his fingers through mine. Dear goddess. That feels so good, him holding my hand while he grinds his erection against my leg. He’s sending me a message, too, as he goes stroking my palm, sliding his thumb between my fingers.
I swear he’s saying you can cop a feel with your hands now.
I shudder out a breath, then let go of his hand to squeeze his hard-on.
“Fuck yes,” he grunts, and that powers me on. I stroke and rub, savoring the hard ridge of his cock against my palm.
He pumps his hips once, twice. Then another time, like he’s lost to the sensation.
Then, I squeeze him again. His restraint snaps, right with mine. Milo grabs my face, then backs me up against the wall right by his office. I lose hold of his dick when he pushes me against the doorjamb so it wedges into my back.
Angling his face against my neck, he drags his nose along the column of my throat, inhaling my scent.
“Ahhh,” I mutter, a cross between a purr and a groan. Milo’s sniffing my skin, and it’s so fucking erotic.
His mouth travels to my ear where he whispers, all gravelly and a little frustrated, “Your orange blossom drives me insane.”
But it’s a good frustration. He’s all tense and coiled. Like he might pounce on me. I hope he does. Really soon.
“I had a feeling,” I say, all fizzy.
“Yeah. What was the giveaway?”
“You seem to like to smell me at work,” I whisper.
He levels me with a gaze that’s dark and hungry. “I want to smell you, and taste you, and kiss you all over,” he says, as he stares at my mouth. “Shit. That’s too much. I should stop.”
He steps back, but I won’t allow that—his worry. I reach out, grab the neckline of his shirt as I jerk him against me. “I like it,” I say. “All of it. Everything.”
“Good. That’s so damn good. There’s so much I want to say to you, Veronica,” he tells me, his voice raw.
But he speaks with his hands instead, dragging one over the fabric of my dress, then gripping my thigh. I shiver, and I ache terribly for him too. My pulse beats savagely between my legs. I don’t bother checking the time. I don’t even care. I grab that wandering hand of his. “So, you’re good with your hands, you say?”
His grin is wicked. “I can show you.”
I clasp his hand tighter, slide it up, up, and under my skirt, then against my skin. “You better.”
With a rough groan, he grazes his hand up my thigh, travels along my flesh.
I wobble.
Then, his fingers play with the waistband of my white panties. Can this moment please last all night?
The sweet, agonizing ache is incredible. I want to stretch this bliss for as long as I possibly can, and I want him to satisfy my need right now.
I just . . . want.
“Let me tell you, sunshine,” he whispers, using the nickname that I imagined Mister Sexy Pants gave me in one of my columns. “This is heaven.” He cups his palm between my thighs. “Right here,” he rasps out, so I can’t miss what heaven is to him—me.
He glides his fingers across the cotton panel of my damp panties. “So fucking wet,” he says, with dirty approval.