Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 722(@200wpm)___ 578(@250wpm)___ 481(@300wpm)
"Do it, Cordelia," he orders, his voice cracking like a whip.
I slump forward, doing my best to obey.
"Good girl," he murmurs. "Now breathe for me, baby. Deep breaths."
I suck in a breath and exhale it. The black spots in my vision slowly disappear.
"Better?"
"Yes," I whisper.
"Good," he growls, plucking me up from the couch like a ragdoll. His hands sink into my hips, his furious gray eyes meeting mine as he lifts me to my feet. "I don't know what the hell you're so afraid of, but you're going to tell me. Now."
"Paul Bunyan, save me," I whisper, caught in the maelstrom swirling through his eyes. They're the color of gunmetal now, shooting off sparks. They're so pretty. And so is he, like a fiery, furious Viking warlord.
He curses, his breath washing across my face.
"Deacon."
"Say it, Sunshine."
"Say..." I don't know how I know what he means, but something sinful and seductive flickers in his eyes and I realize exactly what he wants me to say. My core clenches, some wanton woman inside breaking free. I place my hand on his chest, anchoring myself, and whisper the word he wants to hear right now. "Sir."
"Fuck." His rough hands tighten on my hips in a possessive grip, his mouth slanting down on mine.
I forget about my fear. I forget that he's my cranky boss. I forget everything but the way he sips at my lips as if he's never tasted anything sweeter. He controls the kiss, controls me, as he drags me closer, pressing me up against his body.
There are boulders, and then there's Deacon. He's a mountain himself, as hard as his kiss, as fierce as that growl. And that definitely is not a sock in his jeans because I can feel the hard ridge of it against my belly.
My brain short-circuits. I'm in sensory overloading and it is awesome! His rough hands. His strength. The way his tongue strokes mine, coaxing it into an erotic, sensual dance. The feel of his beard against my face and his cedar and brandy scent swirling around me. He's everywhere at once, as if he's seeping into my pores.
I press closer, dragging my hands up and down his chest in a shameless attempt to touch as much of him as possible. Right up until my hand wanders a little too far south anyway and lands right on his massive erection.
"Goddamn, Sunshine," he rasps, ripping his mouth from mine.
We glance down at my hand at the same time. I see it on his erection. My brain tells me this is bad. But my body and my brain are apparently not speaking the same language, because instead of yanking my hand away, I squeeze his dick.
"Fuck!" he growls.
The next thing I know, I'm bent over the arm of the sofa with my dress up around my waist. His rough hand comes down on my right cheek in a hard smack.
"Deacon!" I sob, a powerful pulse shooting straight to my clit.
He spanks my left cheek and the same powerful sensation rips through me. My knees tremble.
"Next time you touch my dick, you better be ready for the consequences, little girl," he growls, plastering himself against my back. His hand sinks into my hair, craning my head back. He tugs the strands, pulling just enough to make my stomach quiver with need. "You'll be choking on it while you're riding my face."
Paul Bunyan, don't save me. Leave me right here with this wicked, cranky, dirty man, please and thank you.
"Y-Yes, sir," I whisper.
"Good girl," he practically purrs, pressing an intimate kiss to the side of my throat before he releases my hair and slides his arms around my waist, cuddling me as if he didn't just completely knock my world out of orbit. "Now, tell me what you're so afraid of, Sunshine."
"The woods." I lay my head back against his chest, squeezing my eyes closed. "Mountains. Forests. Camping. Hiking. Wild animals."
"That's quite the list."
"That's only the first half," I mutter. "I went camping once. Two days in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest near Mt. Rainier sounded fun until I got lost."
"Fuck," he whispers, tensing.
"I was out there for four days before the search party found me. I've been terrified of anything outdoorsy ever since."
"How old were you?"
"Thirteen." I laugh tremulously. "Drunk Me decided it was time to get over it."
"You took this job to help you get over it?"
"Yes. Drunk Me makes terrible decisions. She's not allowed to drink anymore," I grumble, which makes him smile for the first time since I got here. "I decided ten years was long enough to be afraid to step foot in a forest or a patch of trees bigger than a Christmas tree farm, so here I am."
"Here you are," he says.
"I can do this job. I'm just a little anxious about the nature parts. Please don't fire me."