Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Guys want what I’m not ready to give. What I’m not confident enough to give.
But Jake said he was different. He said he’d wait until I was ready. He even claimed he wasn’t angry last weekend, but the deafening disquiet between us on the long trek back to his car was the first sign that something was wrong. Our weeks of dates, flirty texts, and smoldering looks at the office were about to get complicated. I’d known it, felt it, because that wasn’t the first time I’d put the brakes on when he was ready to go full throttle.
For days I chewed over my insecurities before coming to the conclusion that I needed to step up my game. He’s a man with needs, and knowing it’s beyond time to move past my fear of taking the next step, I wanted to give him the most special birthday gift I could.
Guess he decided to get it from someone else.
“Get on your knees,” he groans.
I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound. Careful not to give away my presence, I set the picnic basket of baked chicken and rice pilaf on the floor then wedge the door open a crack. My heart pounds in my throat as I peer into his office, despite the roaring voice in my head shouting to just walk the fuck away.
Now, Sadie. Walk. The. Fuck. Away.
But I can’t. My gaze fastens on the blonde sinking to her knees in front of him. She’s his assistant—someone I’ve never liked—which makes this even worse in the cliché department. Wearing nothing but a pair of heels and a wide grin, she curls her fingers around his jutting hard-on. His slacks puddle around his ankles, and…Jesus, he’s huge and ready and already dripping onto her double D’s.
I wipe the moisture from my eyes with quick, angry movements. I’m angry at him, and angry at myself for being incapable of looking away as she parts her lips and sucks his length into her mouth. He’s fisting her tousled hair as his hips move so fast that I can’t help but wonder if he’s choking her.
I kind of hope he is.
She purrs around his shaft, making him throw his head back, and a guttural moan escapes his mouth. “You take it like a whore every time.” He yanks her head back and seats the tip between her damp lips. “You want to swallow every drop, don’t you?”
“Mmm-hmmm,” she moans, sliding her lips down his shaft again.
As I watch them, I question the very basis of my being, wading through the conflicting emotions roiling through me. Anger, betrayal, and admittedly, fascination because I want to be the one on my knees.
What would it be like to have a man at my mercy like that, to have the confidence to give head like a whore and enjoy every moment of it? Would our eyes lock on each other the whole time? Would the lustful glint is his stare give me a sense of empowerment?
I should be raging mad at finding my boyfriend with his dick in someone else’s mouth. Not to say that I’m not wounded by his betrayal.
But what I really am, at the core of my soul, is curious.
Confused.
Ashamed.
Hurt.
Yeah, definitely hurt. If he’d given me a little more time, not to mention some damn respect, it could have been me on my knees. I would have given him what he wanted. Could have given him what I wanted. Eventually, after the red haze of shock and hurt wanes, I know I’ll be glad I didn’t get on my knees for him.
He doesn’t deserve it.
And he sure as hell doesn’t deserve my V-card. This asshole doesn’t deserve shit from me, least of all another breath wasted on him.
Leaving the picnic basket on the floor outside his office, I whirl with silent footsteps and creep out the way I came. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t hold on to the anger long enough to drown out the hurt. Hot drops of humiliation drip down my cheeks as I jab the button for the elevator.
Determined to get my shit together before I arrive on the first floor, I dry my eyes. Holding the tears back isn’t easy, but I’m dressed up on a Friday night, and no way am I going to waste it by crying over a loser like Jake.
Chapter Two
Sadie
“You better slow down there, Sadie.”
Ashton Levine, with his caring eyes—the kind of eyes that put puppy dogs to shame—attempts to commandeer my sixth…maybe seventh shot? Before his grabby hands slide it out of reach, I toss it back. My eyeballs water as it burns down my esophagus like the last five rounds of tequila did.
Wait. Is it five or eight? Shit, maybe Ash is right. I’ve lost count.