Total pages in book: 199
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1001(@200wpm)___ 801(@250wpm)___ 668(@300wpm)
Oh.
Right.
“I’m guessing it’s important,” he continues, leaning over me with his arms on either side of my hips, making his sculpted shoulders look larger than life. “Given that you pretended to stumble for it. All so you could get me to come upstairs and into your apartment.”
I pull at the sleeves of his t-shirt. “Well, to be fair —”
“A piece of advice though,” he cuts me off, his eyes looking into mine. “Next time, you can just ask instead of going through all the trouble.”
I blush, making his eyes flash. Then, “I never asked you to carry me up, first of all. And second of all, you could’ve taken the elevator up instead of —”
He pulls a face. “Elevators are for pussies.”
“No, they’re not. They’re for sensible people.”
“Well, no one ever accused me of being sensible.”
I swallow. “I would’ve told you the agenda if you hadn’t been so… angry at the restaurant.”
His eyes narrow. “And I wouldn’t have been so angry if you hadn’t worn that dress.”
“What?”
His eyes narrow further. “Because if you hadn’t, then I would’ve been able to take at least one breath without wanting to strangle it out of someone.”
I frown at him before looking down at my dress. “This dress?”
He growls in response.
I look up. “There’s nothing wrong with this dress. It’s modest.”
It is.
I’m not even lying about that. It’s a pumpkin colored dress with a square neckline that could’ve been really wide and exposing but is not. It hardly shows any cleavage and the sleeves go down to my elbows even. And the hem hits me just an inch above the knees and that’s it.
I know exposing dresses — I own a lot of them — but this isn’t one of them.
“Then why do I want to burn it?”
“Because you’re crazy?”
“No,” he states, his voice rough. “You are. If you think this is modest and that you haven’t driven every single man at that restaurant crazy.”
My frown thickens. “There were like, four men at that restaurant tonight. It’s a school night, okay? And I think one of them was there with his family, a wife and two kids. And —”
“And why do you think he kept looking for the waiter every five seconds?”
“Uh, because he needed water and more fortune cookies, who cares?”
“No,” he bites out, “because he wanted an excuse to stare at you. So he could solve the eternal mystery of how big your tits actually are and if he could fit his slimy hand down your cleavage. And that’s only because his hand isn’t really the thing he’s interested in shoving down there.”
“Ew, that’s…” Then, biting my lip, “What’s the real thing that he wants to shove down there though?”
His nostrils flare and I swear his chest expands so much that it looks like he’s going to come out of his skin.
“Never mind,” I say hastily. “That’s not important. But I also don’t think you’re right. He was married.”
“So?”
“With two kids.”
“Yeah,” he once again bites out angrily.
“So I don’t think —”
“That’s exactly why he’s going to go home and fuck his wife while thinking about a wet dream of a girl in a tight-ass orange dress he saw at the restaurant tonight.”
“Pumpkin,” I correct him and his brows bunch up. “The color of my dress. It’s a pumpkin colored dress.”
His jaw tics for a second and I go to take it back, what I said, but he growls again, “That still doesn’t change the fact that when he gets his nut off tonight, he’ll be imagining he’s doing it on your fucking face instead of inside his wife.”
“That’s very… ugh.” I scrunch my nose. “Maybe it was a date night for him.”
“With the kids.”
“So what, some people like that,” I tell him, swatting his arm. “And maybe he’s f-fucking his wife because he’s in a good mood. After the mouthwatering Chinese food that he’s had.”
“No, he’s in a good mood because of your mouthwatering tits.”
My chest heaves. “That’s —”
“And the same thing can be said about that fucking teenager.”
“What teenager?”
“The one who gave up all pretense on looking for the waiter and simply kept staring at you like a creepy fucking horndog.”
“I don’t —”
“The one who also nearly jizzed his pants while staring at your bouncy ass when you walked by to go to the restroom.”
That rings a bell and I ask, “The one I smiled at when I walked back?”
“Yeah,” he says with clenched teeth. “Which for the record probably pushed him over the edge and took him from nearly jizzing his pants to it being very fucking likely that tomorrow morning his mom will be putting a soiled pair of pants in the laundry.”
“I —”
“And same goes for those two waiters, that bartender, a couple of delivery guys who walked in.”
“But —”
“So yes,” he declares. “I was angry. And if I wasn’t in a hurry to get you out of there, I would’ve taken my time and beaten the shit out of them. And then I would’ve burned every dress in your fucking closet. In fact, I’d be burning them right now.”