Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
But now I realize there’s nothing businesslike about him.
There’s also something messy about him, especially tonight. And that’s what feels like fucking catnip to me.
“It’s been nice talking with you,” he finally tells me.
I catch a whiff of his spiced smell, almost like the scent of clove. He shouldn’t smell so fucking good, but that’s just another one of my five senses that’s constantly in overdrive.
I bite the inside of my cheek, looking him over. “I knew you wouldn’t stay.”
He narrows his gaze, and when he speaks again his voice drops into a serious lower register that makes me feel like I’m a kid at school who just got in trouble.
“If you think I’m going to stay up here and keep barking up the wrong tree, you’re crazier than I thought. I need to get back downstairs. Have a great night.”
My heart lurches.
There’s a swarm inside me, and I don’t know how to think more clearly.
The warmth of his attention is pulled from me as he looks back out at the city, like a storm cloud just passed over him. I look at the glint of his highlights in the neon light, fluttering in the wind, and I wonder how much his haircare regimen costs. It looks like money and it smells good even from here. He runs his hands through his hair gently, then nods.
No.
Get back here.
“I want you to do it,” I tell him.
Fuck, I really am fucking insane.
He turns around slowly, his gaze still firm.
“Funny,” he says.
“Not joking.”
His eyes rake across my body, looking from my mouth, to my necklaces, then lower. He takes his lower lip between his teeth, then lets it slide out slowly as he watches me. It feels like there’s kindling in my chest that’s threatening to rip into a fire.
I’ve never done anything with a man before, it’s true. But I’ve also never been shy when it comes to sex.
Guys have seen my cock before, and I’ve been proud.
And there was one time that I fucked a girl at a party, and when I caught a guy staring at us, looking right at my dick, it only spurred me on to fuck her harder.
And the temptation of having a tongue on my cock right now is unbelievably strong, even if I have no clue how it would feel if the tongue belonged to a man.
What’s so bad about that? A mouth, a pair of lips?
“I think you’re confused,” he says.
“I am. And I still want you to do it. Because I don’t think you will. I don’t think you’ll get on this concrete roof in those expensive fucking pants. How much were they? Five hundred? Six?”
“Probably about three thousand,” he says calmly. “Loaned Armani. My stylist will flip if I give them back dirty.”
A fire ignites in my chest, like a long-disused engine suddenly sparking to life.
“Do it,” I tell him.
My whole body feels like it’s in a chokehold. But I have to see how far he will take this. How far he’s willing to go, just because I’m asking him to.
He steps up near me and enters back into the light of the neon sign.
Then he actually does it.
He takes one knee in front of me, and my heart pounds in my chest.
Holy fuck.
Half of his face is back in shadow, now, as he kneels before me on the ground. And I’m a little horrified to find that my cock twitches seeing him in front of me like that.
It feels like power.
The only kind of power I love. The feeling of someone wanting me, someone craving to touch me, so much that they’re willing to get on their knees.
He’s handsome in a way that veers into territory where he’s almost beautiful, and maybe my mind is short-circuiting.
I like this.
It’s fucking insane, and I like it.
“Listen,” I tell him. “I really wasn’t going to jump off the roof or do anything crazy. I just came up to smoke and then felt guilty because I promised I would quit. I don't need pity, if that’s what you’re doing.”
“Glad you didn’t light that cigarette,” he says, looking up at me. “Because if you did, I’d have asked you to share, and I quit years ago.”
“Really?”
He scrubs a palm over his face before revealing his pretty eyes to me again. “Why do I keep telling you things? I never even told my family I used to smoke. ”
I peer down at him, trying to figure something out. “How old are you?”
“29.”
He scans my body. I feel like a king being surveyed by a suitor.
“Not that old,” I tell him. “Eight years older than me.”
“You’re 21. Damn, I’m good at guessing ages,” he says.
I bring a hand to his jaw, touching him for the first time since he kneeled. I stroke my fingertips beneath his chin, then brush lower onto his throat.