Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“What? Why?” I ask in astonishment.
“He asked me yesterday to get up with you. Check on you.”
“He did?”
Walsh nods. “And I’d like you to call him and tell him that I got up with you.”
“So he doesn’t worry?” I surmise.
“So he doesn’t keep pushing at me, which makes me feel like shit that he wants me to check up on you and there’s no real need to do that since I’m fucking you,” Walsh says, and that makes me wince.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I know this is hard.”
The expression on his face softens as he leans closer to my face. “One last thing… if you want to work things out with Vince, you need to say the word and I’ll step aside. I was being a little selfish last night when—”
My fingers come to his lips, press them closed, and he stops talking.
“I’m right where I want to be,” I assure him, and because he still looks troubled by our complicated relationship, I add on, “For now.”
Walsh’s lips curve into a grateful smile, and I pull my fingers away from his mouth.
Then his lips are on mine, giving me a sweet kiss goodbye. When he pulls back, he says, “Be ready for dinner at seven, here at my apartment. We’ll go out and eat, then I’m taking you back to The Wicked Horse.”
A pleasant cramp of desire hits me between the legs, but I just nod at him.
Standing from the bed, Walsh looks down at me and says, “Don’t forget to call Micah.”
“Got it,” I assure him with a smart salute.
“Going to spank that pussy again tonight,” he says with a grin.
“Looking forward to it, baby,” I say with an answering one.
CHAPTER 15
Walsh
I walk around the 3D mockup of the new shopping center we want to build in Reno, admiring the architect’s rendition. He points at the various features, noting areas where we have multiple options that could be changed up to draw in a variety of retailers.
My partners, August Kline and Carina Van DeBosch, also study the model in quiet contemplation as the architect drones on and on.
I don’t need to hear it. It’s a clever design and we’ll get a very good return on our investment. Carina asks a question about the interior greenspace, asking if it can be enlarged to double as a live entertainment venue.
I listen with half an ear and am all too glad when my phone dings in my pocket, indicating a text. I pull it out and smile when I see it is from Jorie.
It merely says, Pink or Black?
I look up to see Carina and the architect involved in deep conversation, August listening in, and I send a quick text back to her. Pink or black what?
She responds back almost immediately with a picture of two pairs of panties laid out on my bed. One pink, the other black.
Definitely pink.
She writes back. You know, I only used to wear pink panties when I was fifteen.
That just gave me a hard-on. I snicker when I hit send.
Perv, she retorts, and then gives me a smiling emoji.
My fingers fly over the screen, typing back to her. You in the pink panties, nothing else on, spread and waiting for me on my dining room table. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.
I smile in satisfaction as I wait for her response. It’s been a damn good week with Jorie. She’s stayed at my apartment every night, and we’ve gone to The Wicked Horse twice. What we do in the privacy of my bedroom is far more intimate than what we do at the club, but I love having her in both places. In my bedroom, she’s all soft and pliant with breathy moans and worshipful eyes.
At the club, she’s a writhing, screaming mess. She’s fucking glorious in her abandonment, and I wonder if she always had that in her, or if I bring it out.
My ego wants to pin the blame squarely on my shoulders.
Can’t tonight, she texts back. Having dinner with Elena.
I stare at her words and take note of the keen disappointment I can feel in my bones. While we’ve been together every night this week, we’ve done nothing more than grab dinner where we tend to find ourselves reminiscing about old times growing up, and then fuck all night. It’s what I wanted… that no-strings, casual sex.
And now that I might not see Jorie tonight, the fact I’m feeling bent out of shape about it gives me the wiggins. It scares the fuck out of me that I might have become dependent on Jorie.
Or possibly even addicted.
This scares me because this is how it started with Renee. Off the charts, kinky, dirty, filthy fucking that neither of us could get enough of it. Yes, we were possibly even addicted to each other and for some stupid reason we were never able to figure out, it led us to the altar.