Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
When asked why, I gave the simple truth. “I don’t feel like it.”
The longer, greater truth is Brienne texted me her room number, and the only thing I want to do tonight is sink my cock into her. We’ve both been tested, she’s on birth control, and the thought of having her with nothing between us has invaded my thoughts continuously for the last two days.
It’s safe to say that what started out as a hot-as-hell occasional hookup has progressed to something else. It’s definitely led to promises of monogamy, but that’s only so we can do away with condoms.
It certainly doesn’t have anything to do with that stupid display of jealousy when I saw that douche, Clay Bessel, put his hand on Brienne’s hip. I thought my head was going to explode, and I seriously wanted to do a lot more than hurt his delicate little baby fingers.
That night, after I’d proven to Brienne and myself that it was indeed uncomfortable as hell to fuck on the grand staircase, I asked her what the good doctor said to her.
“He wanted to come to my house tonight,” she replied without hesitation. She wasn’t trying to spare my feelings.
“I would have broken a lot more than his fingers,” I muttered.
Brienne laughed. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”
“I don’t get jealous,” I proclaimed.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“What would you have done?” I asked.
She appraised me. “If I saw a woman touch you intimately?”
“Yeah.”
Her smile was provocative. “I certainly wouldn’t make a jackass of myself in public.”
She and I both know I didn’t make a jackass of myself in public as my behavior was only hers to witness, but the comment earned her a spanking bent over the dining room table, which we both enjoyed.
The memory gets me worked up, but luckily, Brienne’s room is within sight. My mouth actually tingles in anticipation of kissing her, and I wonder how she’ll greet me at the door. I bet she’s as amped up about the win over Boston as I am—maybe we’ll break some hotel furniture tonight.
Of course, in my desire to have her, maybe I’ll just drag her to the floor for our first time.
I shrug out of my jacket and toss it over my arm. I already removed my tie on the way up and shoved it in the pocket before loosening the top two buttons of my shirt. I hate fucking dressing up.
Knocking on the door, I try to quell the anticipation, but she doesn’t make me wait. She’s there, still in the dress and heels I assume she wore to the game. She would have been in a luxury box reserved for visiting owners and probably had hobnobbing to do. Her hair is in her classic upswept knot, and I can’t wait to mess it up.
Rather than giving me a sexy smile or flirty comment, she pivots on her heel and walks deeper into the suite. “I need just a minute, Drake. I’m in the middle of a really important email I need to send.”
Frowning, I shut the door and follow along. The executive suite is like every other I’ve seen in fancy hotels, the fourth suite I’ve been in at Brienne’s invitation since we started fucking. Spacious rooms, high-end furniture, countless amenities, and a private balcony.
Brienne settles into the chair at the desk, her laptop open and fingers flying across the keyboard. She bites down on her lower lip, something I notice she does when concentrating. Not that I’ve observed her work outside that one time in her home office, but I’ve seen her do that when she’s trying to concentrate on not coming.
Trying to stave off an orgasm to prolong the pleasure.
It only makes me work harder to topple her over.
Tossing my jacket on the sofa, I watch Brienne immerse herself in work and completely ignore me. I glance at my watch: 11:58 p.m.
It’s quitting time, as far as I’m concerned.
Unbuttoning my cuffs, I move behind her. She doesn’t flinch or stop her typing when I start to pull the pins from her hair. There are only four of them, and I sift my fingers through the soft locks. She rolls her shoulders slightly and hums in her throat so I know it feels good.
Bending over, I expose the side of her neck and run my lips along it, giving her a good dose of my beard tickling along her skin.
She tries to jerk away, but my hand stays fisted in her hair.
“I can’t concentrate,” she grumbles, her eyes still fixed on her screen.
Moving to the side of her chair and squatting, I reach over and shut the laptop. She pulls her fingers out of the way in the nick of time.
“Drake,” she exclaims in frustration, but then she gasps as my hand slides along her inner thigh.
“You’re done working, Brienne.”
“But—”
“No buts,” I say as I nudge her legs apart and rub my knuckles over her silk-covered pussy.