Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
I reach up and wipe my upper lip, puffing out my cheeks, part in disbelief, part in awe. She’s the impossible. The unthinkable. The cure. And tonight, I’m going to speak to her in a way she’ll understand because, fuck knows, she could never comprehend the actual words.
The gates to Lusso come into view, and I tap my steering wheel constantly as I wait for them to open. She looks across the car at me. “You’re going to have a seizure if you don’t calm down.”
My hands stop tapping, and I meet her hungry gaze. “Ava, I’ve had a fucking seizure every day since I’ve met you.” Whether caused by pleasure or stress.
The gates finally grant me access, and I put my foot down.
“You’re swearing a lot,” she muses.
“And you’re going to be screaming a lot. Out.” I eject myself from my car fast, joining her on the other side. She’s not even got one leg out of my Aston by the time I make it to her. When the hell did she turn into a fucking tortoise? Can’t she see my urgency? And where the fuck has hers gone? “What are you doing?”
She pouts, taking a lazy gaze around the docks. “Do you fancy a walk?”
A walk? What does she think this is, a 1920s romance novel? I couldn’t have heard her right. “Do I fancy a walk?”
“Yes,” she says, cool, casual, but I can see the slight lift of her mouth. She’s playing. “It’s a lovely evening.”
It is. But it will be even lovelier when I get her naked. “No, Ava.” I move in. “I fancy fucking you until you beg me to stop.” Dipping, I seize her and haul her over my shoulder, loving her exhale of surprise. One day, she’ll be so used to me picking her up, she’ll stop being surprised. Do I fancy a walk? I scoff and do the unthinkable. I kick my car door closed. My two-hundred-grand car. That’s how desperate I am. That’s what she does to me.
“Jesse,” she yelps as I pace into Lusso. “I’ll walk!”
“Not fast enough. Good evening, Clive.”
“I’m not drunk,” she blurts, and I frown, catching the concierge’s look of alarm. Yes, I’m a caveman. Confirmed. But she’ll learn. Don’t deprive me. Don’t play games. I smack the code into the panel in the elevator and look over my shoulder, smiling. It drops the moment the minx slips her hands past my jeans. The heat spreads like wildfire. Uncontrollable. Uncontained.
I’m one stroke away from dropping her and taking her here and now. Jesus. My teeth press together, and I close my eyes, willing myself to hold on just a little while longer. I open my eyes and watch as the dial ticks painfully slowly through the floors. Come on.
The doors open, and I’m out fast, struggling to walk with the bulge I’m packing. “No fucking about.” Let’s be clear. She needs to lose whatever sassy streak she’s found and give me what I need before I combust. “I want inside you now. You fuck about, I swear to God—”
“You’re so romantic,” she says, close to a giggle.
“We’ve got all the time in the world for romance, lady.”
I make it to the kitchen—I don’t know how—and let her slip down my front slowly, my body folding, a suppressed moan vibrating at the back of my throat. She’s clinging to me for support, can hardly stand on her own two feet, and I’ve not even started yet. “You know,” I say, sounding in control but feeling anything but, “you’re really not going to be in a fit state to work tomorrow. Strip, now.”
Her surprise is endearing. She thought I’d rip off her clothes. No. I’m starving for her, but this won’t be rushed. Every moment will be slow, giving her mind space to process it. This will be the loudest I’ve ever spoken, and I pray she hears me.
I take her hands from my shoulders and guide them to her blouse. She needs help. Needs me. “Start with the shirt.”
Her head tilts, her hands still. “So, am I in charge?”
I could laugh. Oh, lady, you are so in charge. She rules me. Eases me. Strips me of reason. I’m incapable of thinking straight around her, and I’m constantly fighting with my conscience and my instinct. Instinct always wins. “If it makes you happy.” I watch her as I remove my watch, her eyes clouding, her shaky hands starting to unfasten the buttons. The first one reveals her smooth décolletage. I gulp. The second her breastbone. The third, her bra. Fuck me, if this isn’t fucking about, I don’t know what is. But watching her giving herself to me, albeit slow as fuck, is satisfaction personified.
She releases the final button, exposing her front to me. I’m vibrating. Rapt.
Lace.
She pushes her chest out as she shrugs it off, but she doesn’t let it fall to the floor. She holds it out to the side in a loose grip, as my eyes travel over every inch of her skin, eventually making it to her face. Her eyes sparkle like priceless diamonds as she releases the blouse.