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)
I clicked it into place and flipped the deadbolt. I turned and Lee was standing there. Close. So close that when he took a step forward, it put my back flat against the door, my keys falling to the floor, my breath catching somewhere in the space between us. He moved forward, the warmth of his body fully against me, one leg sliding in between mine, the hard press of him teasing the ache in my core. He let out a hard breath against my neck, his hands tracking down the side of my body and cupping the curve of my ass. Pulling me even tighter, he ground his hips against mine.
"I don't want to be your rebound," I whispered.
“And I don't want to be your side piece." He bit out the words against my neck. "But tonight, I need a fucking rebound. I need to bury myself inside of you. Tonight, I am your side piece. So both of us can fuck like adults and both of us can lose our minds for a night and not feel like shit about it." He squeezed my ass so hard it hurt, the hitch in my breath bringing his head up until his mouth was even with mine, his breath hot in the moment before he pressed his lips against mine. His kiss was rough and possessive and he rutted against me, pining me against the door. "You feel that, Lucky?" He grabbed my hand and put it on his zipper. Held it there until my fingers moved, gripping the stiff outline of his cock. "That's my level of need right now. Now, be a good slut, and get it out."
I fumbled with the button of his shorts. I got it free and then yanked at his zipper. Pulled it down and pushed my hand in. Let out a shudder when my fingers wrapped around and pulled him free. He was so hard in my hand. So ready. I squeezed it. Worked my hand up and down its thick length as he ravaged my mouth, the hiss against my lips telling me the tempo he liked. He grabbed between my legs, his thumb pressing my clit through my yoga pants, but the stimulation wasn't enough, not compared with the steel organ in my hand. The one that was pulsing beneath my palm. The one whose tip was wet with arousal; his shaft warm with need. I dropped his cock and put both hands on his chest, pushing him away. He fought it, his kiss fighting for my mouth, one of his hands catching my wrist and putting my hand back on his cock, my name a beg on his lips.
Fuck, I lusted for this man. I needed him. I needed him to be completely mine. I didn't want second best. I didn't want rebound sex. My desire for him trumped anything with Brant. I couldn't help that. I couldn't help the different way I felt about each man. I only knew that right now, I needed more than my hand on his cock. I needed to feel, for at least a moment, a full connection with him.
"The bedroom," I gasped out. I pulled away, past him and headed up the stairs that would take us to my bed.
"No." The resolution in his voice stopped me on the second step. I looked back. He stood in the middle of my foyer, his legs spread, shorts low on his hips, his cock heavy in his fist. "I need you right now. Lay down."
"Here?" I looked down at the Persian rug that was over a hundred years old.
"Christ, Lucky. Now. Strip."
I yanked my sports tank over my head and tugged at my yoga pants, unable to take my gaze off him. One hand pressed at the base of his cock, the other moved in slow strokes. His handsome face was hard with desire, his gaze intense as he watched me fumble out of the pants.
“Come here,” he rasped, and dropped to his knees. He reached for me and pulled me down before him, the rough kiss of the carpet on my bare back. He spread my knees apart, held onto my waist and pulled me forward onto his stiff cock.
There were so many things wrong with this situation. But damn, I loved it. I stared deep into his eyes, scraped my nail across his chest, and wrapped my legs around his waist. For the next fifteen delicious minutes, I forgot about Brant, about Gymnast Barbie, about anything but him and me and that moment of time.
I was his rebound.
He was my sidepiece.
And both of us wanted more.
At least I did. Maybe anything else was a lie I was telling myself.
Chapter 40 - Jillian
It's safe to say I never liked Layana. There is something about a woman, when you look into her eyes and see calculation that I don't like. I prefer the open books, the women who pass through this office full of smiles and sunshine and optimism. I don't look in their eyes and wonder what they are thinking. I don't listen to them speak and search for hidden meanings. I don't wonder, when they leave, where they are going. But that, from day one, is how it has been with Layana. I had hoped she was a temporary fling. Surely another woman would catch Brant's fancy, that he wouldn't go for her long legs and mess of dark curls. But, alas, none did, and she stayed. And now, here we are. Both of us battling over this man. I only want to protect him. She “loves" him. We have differing views on what loving him entails. I don't want to think about what she does to keep him. Whatever it is, it's working. The man won't take his eyes off her.