Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
How did he know to do that? Intuition, I suppose, just like now, covering me with the sheet. He pays attention.
“Thank you for covering me,” I whisper.
“Wouldn’t want you to get cold.” His eyes dance with humor.
“How long did you look before you covered me?” I ask as I reach out to cup his cheek.
“That would be telling.”
“I don’t look like your usual type.” I silently curse myself for the brain fart that burst from my mouth. Wow. I so need to adjust the dial on my internal self-love barometer.
“Stalker, much?” His words end in a playful curl.
“You wish,” I say, ignoring my stinging cheeks, because that wasn’t the answer my subconscious was looking for. “I just had to make sure you didn’t have a wife and a boatload of kids.” And absolutely nothing to do with my insecurities.
“You think I might be a bigamist?” His expression—it’s like he can’t decide whether to laugh or be annoyed.
“You know what I mean. Anyway, it turns out you don’t have a harem, but you also have a fan club,” I retort, thinking of my internet stalk.
“I wonder who’s collecting the membership subscriptions. I should get a cut, right?”
“You’re ridiculous,” I whisper, stretching my arms about my head. As the sheet grazes my nipple, I realize I’m experiencing my very first nipple slip . . .
“You’re the sexiest woman I know.”
“Is that so?” I whisper, sliding my fingers from neck to sternum, dragging the sheet lower as my fingers traverse my ribs.
He hums a sound, low and long, his gaze turning my nipples to hard points. Oh, my days, pushing through your insecurities—forcing yourself to relax into your own skin—is sort of empowering. Look at me and my blooming sexuality, and my power over him.
I make a tiny noise of pleasure as Fin slides his thumb across my exposed nipple.
“You know, I never considered myself to have a type before,” he says, watching my body undulate under his touch. “It turns out I do.” His eyes are so dark as they lift.
“You don’t look very happy about that,” I say, arching into his hand.
“It’s not that,” he murmurs, bending to press his lips to the hard bud. “I’m kind of conflicted. I ran you a bath—I thought you might like that—but now I just want to lick you clean myself.”
The man ran me a bath. I am ridiculously touched by that.
I was also physically touched. Because we fooled around a bit. And it was heavenly.
He touched me here, here, and here, I mouth silently in the mirror, examining the evidence. A patch of stubble rash. A sucking bite to my chest. He might praise my bum, but he also seems really into my boobs. Actually, I think it’s more the case that he’s into the whole package. I love that for me. All this pleasure and a bath!
It might sound stupid, given I’ve got hands that work, but no one has ever run me a bath since I was a little girl. A bath is a treat to me as an adult—a moment to indulge in a little relaxation. It’s like a sign that says Go on, take some time. Treat yourself.
And I never treat myself.
So I appreciate this so much. I also appreciate how Fin didn’t wait around, allowing me a few moments alone in the bathroom to do what a girl must. I leave the door open afterward as a sign that I wouldn’t mind his company, pushing myself a little further out of my comfort zone.
It’s where the rewards are.
And I’m just sinking into the fragrant water as Fin appears on the threshold. Shirtless, just how I like him. I like that he doesn’t ask permission, just drops his shoulder against the doorframe and watches.
“How’s the water?”
His appraisal causes heat to flare and swirl through my core, even as that voice inside triggers those familiar sentiments. You’re too short. Too round. You want too much—you are too much. Yesterday, those thoughts would’ve hit me hard. Would’ve caused something prompted or pointed to shoot out of my mouth. Today, I choose a new path. If I’m too much for you, too bad. Because I’m just who I need to be for myself. Or at least, I’m learning to be. And I revel under Fin’s attention, because it’s clear he doesn’t find me lacking.
The thought shimmers across my skin.
“It’s perfect. Look, my skin is all silky.” I lift my arms, sliding my hands over each in turn. “I don’t know what you’ve put in here, but I’ll smell good enough to eat.”
His eyes darken and he folds his arms across his chest. “Looks to me as though someone’s decided to be a naughty little strumpet.”
“A what?” I ask with a delighted, stuttering laugh. I sink deeper into the tub.
“And it sounds like someone is angling for a spanking.”