Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
The dip of the mattress catches my attention. I lift my head a few inches. Thor pads across the covers, stopping inches from Lake, then settling into a cat ball and closing his eyes.
Thor!
That’s it.
Carefully, so as not to wake man or beast, I ease away from Lake. I hold my breath, hoping he won’t wake up as I escape his arms, then scoot over to the edge of the bed, swing my legs to the floor, and survey the scene.
Relieved that the big hockey player and big Siamese furball are sound asleep, I pad quietly out of the room, snicking the door closed. I head to the kitchen, where I spotted the half-assembled cat tower earlier.
This is my happy place. It’s easy-peasy, and I can finish it in way less than forty-five minutes. I root around in my bag for the Swiss Army knife I keep with me, then get to work assembling the rest of the baskets, perches, and shelves for the cat. When I’m done with time to spare, I step back, admire my handiwork, and close the knife. I listen for sounds from the bedroom and hear none.
Good.
I slip back into the bedroom, where Lake’s asleep on his side. And folks, the challenge for perfectionist Remy Hatmaker is sneaking back under the blanket without disturbing either occupant.
Deep breath.
On tiptoes I cross over to the bed and slowly lie back down. The mattress groans slightly. Lake stirs, but he doesn’t wake.
Like I’m a puzzle piece, I slot myself carefully back into place, lifting his heavy arm and setting it around my breasts again, the owl watching my every move.
And she nails the dismount!
With a victorious smile I keep to myself, I let out a soft breath and close my eyes.
Pretty sure it’s been about forty minutes of nap avoidance now when Lake’s hand coasts down from above my breasts to below them. His arm’s wrapped around my waist, and soon his fingers are traveling lower.
He’s taking a slow, sensual path that makes me feel a little shimmery. A lot tingly as his hand drifts even lower. I can’t help it—I move a little closer to him. He shifts behind me, wedging against me, and I haul in a breath. He’s impressively hard. And he’s letting me know, pressing his erection to my ass.
A soft breath ghosts past my lips.
I squirm around a little, seeking some relief from this sweet ache. If I were home, I’d reach for a toy, watch a video, imagine a scenario.
I try to breathe past the pleasure, to ignore the desire. I can deal with this tonight when I’m alone. There’s no time right now. But when his fingers skim down my stomach and he’s playing with the waistband of my pants, my brain short-circuits, then goes offline. Impulsively, I reach for his hand, cover it with mine, and urge him a little lower.
A groan rumbles past his lips, deep and hungry.
All the risks flash before my eyes again. All the consequences. But I’m stretching my neck, easing closer to him, and getting so, so lost in this sensation. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve been touched, though that’s not true.
But maybe it’s been forever since someone touched me like this. With words, and deeds, and talented fingers that inch underneath my pants.
“Oh,” I gasp.
“Mmm,” he murmurs against me as his fingers travel down the front of my white panties. He dips one strong finger between my thighs, pressing it firmly against the wet fabric.
I can feel, rather than see, his satisfaction.
“This is so unfair,” he murmurs, stroking the damp cotton.
“What’s unfair?” I ask on a rough pant.
“Leaving you like this.”
I tense for a second. Is he going to just…take off? Then it hits me. His alarm is going off. Oh. Right. He has to go. I’m about to make this easier for him and bolt out of bed when he lets go of me, twists around in the covers, and grabs for something on the other side of the bed.
His phone.
I swallow, pushing off the blanket so I can get out.
But the man isn’t the fastest skater on the team for nothing. When he hits the off button on the alarm, he reaches for me again, jerks me against him, replaces the blanket, and says in a low, commanding tone, “Rule six. Waking up is fun too.”
His hand slides between my thighs, where he cups me.
The sound I make is obscene. A desperate, greedy whimper. I try to hide my face in the pillows. But as he slips his fingers inside my panties this time, his throat rumbles. “Let me hear you.”
This man is barely touching me and he’s already assuming I’m going to be loud?
“So cocky,” I say, but the words are muffled when he strokes my wetness, a slick, tempting slide of his fingers.