Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
“Then we’ll skip dinner.”
And there it is. My brain just can’t compute such bolshiness. “Look,” I say, standing. “I have other things going on in my life right now.”
“What, so you can’t fuck?”
“Are you real?”
“Oh, baby, I’m very real, and you will give in.”
I scowl at thin air, hating his cockiness. And the fact that he could be right. He looks like an experience no woman should pass up. Fucking hell. “I’m going to hang up now,” I say, my voice noticeably wobbly.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“What?”
“Where are you?”
I shake my head, my frustration growing. “I’m in my friend’s kitchen.”
“Your friend’s kitchen?”
“I’m staying with her while I find an apartment.”
“Right. Because you broke up with someone.”
“Right.”
“Are you sitting?”
“No.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Sit down, Amelia,” he orders. “Now.” And like a robot, I slowly lower to the chair. “Put the phone on speaker,” he practically whispers. “And place it on the table.”
“What the hell are you—”
“Just do it.”
“No.” I snort, indignant. “Why do you want me to?”
“Don’t you trust yourself?”
My jaw rolls, frustration and anticipation getting the better of me. “I trust myself.”
“Then do it.”
On a sigh I want him to hear, I follow his order.
“Put your hands on your thighs.”
I bite at my lip, his voice doing things to me a voice shouldn’t do all by itself. I swallow and rest my hands there, my skin heating, my thighs clenching. I know what’s happening. Can I stop it?
“Keep them there,” he says. “And listen to me. Are you listening?”
My swallow is lumpy. “I’m listening,” I whisper. And I’m already shaking.
“Don’t move your hands.”
I close my eyes and let his voice sink into me.
“Think about my fingers weaving through yours, Amelia. You liked that, didn’t you? My big, capable, slippery hands working yours.”
Oh fucking hell. But I keep my mouth shut.
“Did. You. Like. It?”
“Yes.” I grind the word out, unable to stop myself from admitting it.
“Are your hands still on your thighs?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t move them.”
“I won’t move them,” I grit out, my body tight, my pussy tight.
“It felt so fucking good, didn’t it?” he whispers. I groan quietly, back in the ladies’ with his hands all over mine. “I could have bent you over that sink and fucked you into tomorrow, and you would have loved that. Tell me. Tell me you would have loved that.”
I inhale, my hand creeping to the inside of my thigh, the pressure building, making me shake. I need to suppress the pulse. Rub myself. Ease the tingles. “I would have loved that.”
“Not so stiff now, are you?” he rasps. “In that chair desperate to come to the sound of my voice.”
My hand meets my pussy over my workout pants, and my breath hitches.
“You’re touching yourself,” he whispers. “Fuck, you’re touching yourself. Does it feel good?”
I can’t talk, can only breathe, my chest pumping, the heat rushing through me. I push my back into the chair, feeling it coming.
“Does it feel good?” he demands harshly. “Tell me, Amelia.”
“It feels so good,” I cry, throwing my head back. It’s coming. It’s coming.
“Take it, baby. And remember who got you off with his voice alone.”
Buzz, buzz, buzz!
I startle, coming into my body on a jarring gasp, my climax fizzling out. “Oh my God.” I blink, looking toward the intercom by the door. I’m panting. A little confused. What just happened?
“Amelia?”
I look down at my phone on the table. Then at my hand between my legs. Fuck. I scramble to grab my mobile.
“Amelia,” he says, sounding urgent.
“I’ve got to go.”
“No, Amelia, do not hang up on me.”
I cut the call and rush to the telephone by the door, so unstable. “Hello?” I gasp.
“Delivery for Abbie Pearson.”
I hit the button to open the main door. “Just leave it in the lobby, thanks.” I hang up and fall against the wall, still fucking breathless.
A puppet on his strings.
What that man could do to me.
Abbie plucks a yellow rose from a metal bucket and adds it to the bouquet she’s building as I follow her around the florist. “I don’t know why you don’t just have dinner with him,” she says. “Worst case, you get a free dinner. Best case, you get a ride on the stallion.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not helping.”
“Then why did you come to see me and not Charley?” she asks as she pulls a few sprigs of eucalyptus out and arranges them just so. “Don’t answer that, I know why.”
I narrow my eyes as she carries on her merry, casual business building a bouquet. “Why?”
“Because, Amelia, you want to have dinner with him, and you know I will encourage you, whereas Charley won’t. That’s why you’re here. Pass me a pussy willow, will you?”
I snatch a twig out.
“And another,” she says, placing it precisely as I scowl and pull out another stick. “Thanks.” She carries on walking, and I chase her heels. “Have dinner with him. What’s the worst that can happen?” She places her built bouquet on a stack of floral paper.