Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
That earned me a real scowl. "I don't have beauticians. They're..." My eloquent man seemed suddenly at a loss for words. I laughed, pushing gently on his cup until his coffee was out of the way, then leaned across the table and stole another kiss. He grabbed the back of my neck, pulled my mouth harder to his, asserted his masculinity in a rough moment of passion. I pulled off, blushing as I sat back down, a passing woman glaring at me as if we've just screwed on the coffee shop's floor.
"I'm sorry about yesterday." The joviality was gone from Brant's voice.
I shrugged. "It's not a big deal. I shopped and ran some errands while downtown."
"I've been fighting a deadline on this wireframe overhaul ... sometimes I get in a work zone and lose track of time."
"It's fine. I was just worried. I'm not mad—just hated bothering Jillian about it." Hated bothering Jillian was a mild way of putting it. Brant and I'd set dinner plans: 6 PM at Alexander's. I'd waited at our table for a half hour before leaving, my calls to Brant going unanswered. I had hesitated to text Jillian, my fingers finally moving across the screen purely out of concern—in case something had happened; in case he was missing. I half-expected a snarky response, something that referenced how unimportant I must be to him. But she had responded quickly and professionally.
He’s here at the office. Will probably work late. No doubt lost track of time. I’m sorry.
The fact that she had been civil in her response only irritated me more, tipping the scales a bit in her favor, setting precedence for an act of similar civility on my part. I broke off a piece of muffin.
"Let me make it up to you."
I watched him while chewing, blueberries mixing with sugar and flour to make a delicious combination in my mouth. "Go ahead," I mumbled.
"Today, I'll blow off work. Be all yours."
I swallowed the bite. "But you're under deadline. You've been working for three weeks to make—"
"I don't care." He reached over the table and gripped my hand. "You are more important, and I’ve set aside a full day of groveling to make up for last night."
I raised an eyebrow. "A full day? That's a hefty commitment, Mr. Sharp."
He met my eyes. "One I'm ready to make."
I leaned over and lowered my voice. "And what do you have planned in this full day of groveling?"
He tugged my hand up to his lips. "I thought I'd start by us dropping by my condo. I have some ideas of ways to make it up to you."
“They’ll need to be very persuasive ways.”
He pulled on the back of my neck until his mouth was against my ear. “They’ll be ways that will make your legs tremble around my neck. Ways that already have me so hard and ready that I may not make it all the way there. Ways that will have you screaming my name and—"
"Let's go." I jerked to standing and the legs of my chair squeaked as they slid across the floor. Pulling on his hand, I beelined for the door.
Chapter 9
Brant's downtown condo was his sex den, the place where high-class hookers had satisfied every carnal desire he'd had over the last two decades. I stood in a living room where other women had moaned his name, serviced his cock, and I couldn’t care less. Because the man standing before me, his eyes dark as he stripped my clothes off? I could see into his soul, and he didn't have eyes for anyone else in the world. He wasn't thinking, picturing, wanting, anything but me. He lifted me up and set me on the dining table, his hands sliding my shorts down my legs and removing my sandals, caressing my skin as his hands journeyed back. He knelt on the floor, looked up into my eyes, and pushed on the inside of my knees, spreading my legs until I was open, his gaze dropping.
"Brant," I moaned, the exposure too much, the open stance causing air to hit places that were typically hidden.
"Be quiet." He slid his hands up my inner thighs, and I dug my fingers into his thick head of hair and bit my bottom lip as his right hand brushed over me. I opened my legs further, and he groaned out my name as he ran a finger over my sensitive lips, outlining the folds with a whisper-soft touch, his teasing brush causing my body to react, to cry for him in the only way it knew, moisture collecting, his breath hissing as he pushed a finger partially in. He met my gaze as he pulled his finger out and tasted my juices, his eyes closing briefly in reverence. "God, I can’t wait to bury my face in you." His touch returned, teasing the outside of me, soft strokes breaking me apart as he caressed every part of me, the pad of his fingers exploring, testing, circling, and pushing, my back arching, mouth dropping as I stared at him, helpless to look away from the scene.