Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
He notices immediately, pausing to turn toward me. His gray eyes search my face with that intensity that makes my knees weak. His voice is low and concerned. “Everything okay?"
I tighten my grip on his hand and force a smile, even if it feels brittle on my lips. I realize my voice is a touch too bright. "Yeah, I'm fine. I haven’t quite completely decided. I have one or two options that I’m considering," I improvise.
We resume walking. The sun warms my skin, and birds chirp from the oaks overhead like they're mocking my ignorance, focusing on the path ahead. The lake is now close enough to hear the soft lap of water against the shore. We come upon a secluded spot tucked away from the main paths, wilder than the manicured beds nearer the house. Lush blooming heirloom roses climb trellises. A small fountain bubbles in the center, water trickling over moss-covered stones that glint in the light. Lavender plants border the edges, their purple spikes releasing a calming scent as we brush past.
“What are the options?” he asks casually.
Damn. What do I do now? Quick. think. Think! “I was thinking a garden theme would be nice,” I say, the words tumbling out. I gesture expansively at the space around us. "Something like this—natural, elegant, with lights strung through the trees."
He doesn’t react negatively, so I carry on, pulling ideas out of my ass, drawing from half-remembered photos in magazines and TV shows. My voice gains confidence as he listens, his head tilted slightly. A small, slightly impressed smile playing on his lips makes my heart flutter despite the nerves. "We could have floral arches at the entrance. Tables set with fresh centerpieces—maybe peonies and hydrangeas. A selection of string quartets playing among the paths. Interactive elements, like a fun photo booth with garden props."
He nods, his thumb still circling my hand. "Sounds perfect. Like an …affair in the Garden?"
"That’s it. That’s the theme. An affair in the Garden," I echo with a satisfied nod. The name fits like a puzzle piece, evoking romance and whimsy. A perfect idea for a charity event. Fuck you, Carolyn. You left me to flounder, but I’ll do okay.
"Let’s be the first couple to test it out," he says, his voice dropping lower, a playful glint in his eyes.
"Here? Outside? Where anybody could see us?" I ask, but a spark of anticipation runs through me as he tugs me gently off the path.
“The staff have the day off. Nobody will see us.”
We head in, and he finds a bench tucked away under the rose trellis. It is made of wrought iron. Its curves are cool and ornate. Vines weave through the backrest like nature's embroidery, the seat dappled with sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead. He sits first, pulling me down onto his lap with a firm grip on my waist, his shirt rides up as I straddle him. His jeans feel rough under my bare thighs, the friction already stirring heat.
He starts to kiss me, his mouth claiming mine in a deep, slow press that melts any lingering resistance. His hands slide up my back under the fabric, fingers tracing my spine in feather-light strokes that make me arch into him. Lust spreads like wildfire, and my thoughts scatter like the leaves on a windy fall day. His stubble grazes my chin, a rough scrape that heightens every sensation. His tongue teases mine with bold, swirling promises that leave me breathless, gasping into his mouth.
And then he starts to pull his boxers down. He slides them right off when I lift one leg, then the other to help him. The cool air kisses my exposed core and makes me shiver with anticipation. My heart pounds wild in my chest, each beat echoing the growing ache between my legs.
His zipper rasps down, then his hardness springs free, thick and ready, the head flushed and glistening. I wrap my hand around him briefly, feeling the velvet heat pulse under my palm. His hands grip my bare ass firmly, squeezing the flesh as he positions me over that thick shaft and impales me onto it. Thick and hard and deep. The stretch fills me completely as I sink down inch by inch. My sex is still a little sore and swollen from last night, and the fullness is overwhelming, almost too much to bear.
A throaty moan escapes my lips.
But there is no rest for the wicked. With firm hands, he urges me to move, and move fast. I ride him right there. Bouncing ferociously on his cock. The bench rattles under our weight. A rhythmic groan that blends with my movements. My hands brace on his shoulders for balance, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as I move, bending my back in a deep arch that presses my breasts against his chest. The angle hits just right inside me, pleasure spiking sharp and hot with each roll of my hips.