Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“I don’t know,” I murmur, my thighs already slick with wanting him, “but I would certainly try my very best, Mr. Gabaldon.”
“That, Miss Perry-Watson is all anyone could ask.” He squeezes my thigh before shifting me back onto my chair and coming to his knees. “Lift up your robe and spread your legs under the tablecloth, baby.”
Blood rushes to my head as he disappears under the table, making me glad I’m seated. I spread my robe open wide, breath hitching as Gideon grips my ass in both hands, dragging me closer to the edge of my seat.
“No panties,” he murmurs. “That’s my good girl.”
I bite my lip and mutter, “Don’t start with that. Not yet.”
He chuckles, a low rumble that has me gripping the table for support as it vibrates against my thigh. He kisses me there, just inches from where I’m soaked for him before whispering, “All right. No more good girl until you’ve come for me without putting on a show. Fuck, I love the way you smell when you’re salty and hot for me, Sydney. Your pussy’s so damned beautiful.”
Pulling in a bracing breath, I grip the table even harder as his tongue slides up the seam of my sex. I tuck my chin to my chest, fighting to look respectable from the chest up as Gideon ravages me from the waist down.
He licks and sucks, swirls and teases, stoking the fire building between my hips before penetrating me with two fingers, delivering the perfect pressure inside my molten core. I tremble and press my lips together, swallowing my coming sounds as I spiral out on Gideon’s talented mouth. He licks up every bit of my slick heat, murmuring encouragement between each swipe of his tongue.
He tells me how delicious I taste.
How much he loves fucking me.
And, of course, what a good girl I am.
By the time he emerges from beneath the table, looking very pleased with himself, I’m already dying for more of him. All of him. “Bedroom,” I whisper. “I need your cock, Mr. Gabaldon.”
“I believe that can be arranged, Miss Perry-Watson,” he murmurs. “I’m enjoying our formality this morning. Perhaps you could call me Mr. Gabaldon while you’re telling me how you’d liked to be fucked next?”
Before I can reply, Gideon’s cell vibrates on the table.
I look over, horror banishing my lust as I read the message.
The text is from Adrian.
And he’s on his way up.
twenty-six
GIDEON
I can count the times Adrian has stopped at my place unannounced on one hand. One finger, in fact, and that was only because a pigeon pooped on his head on his way out of the Union Square subway station and he didn’t have time to get back uptown to his hotel before he was due at a DJ gig.
I assumed Sydney and I would be safe from discovery here.
Instead, she’s hiding under the tablecloth on the patio, the same tablecloth I was under a few moments ago while I was devouring her pussy, and my son is going to be letting himself in any moment.
In the kitchen, I wash my hands and splash water on my face. Then, I pour myself another cup of coffee and do my best to play it cool. I nearly have myself talked down from the edge when I glance out toward the table to see Sydney’s arm emerging from under the tablecloth. She grabs her plate, drawing it under the table with her, before reaching for her water glass.
Smart. If Adrian notices I was having breakfast outside and sees two sets of plates, he’ll wonder what’s up. But I’m not sure she has time to get rid of all the evidence before he reaches the top floor.
I start outside to help her, but the sound of the key turning in the lock stops me in my tracks. I spin, clutching my coffee mug like a lifeline, and pray I’m blocking Adrian’s view of the patio with my body as he slams inside.
“Ouch, shit,” he curses, wincing as he brings a hand to his head. “Drank too much yesterday.”
“Can I get you an ibuprofen?” I ask, sounding remarkably calm considering the state of my blood pressure. “Or some Pedialyte? I think I still have some in the fridge from last New Year’s Eve.”
“No, thanks, I’ll be fine.” He drags a hand down his face as he shuffles in. “Just water would be great. Or one of those orange sodas, if you have them.”
“I do,” I say, relief rushing through my chest as he sags into one of the stools at the island with his back to the windows. A quick glance outside reveals Sydney’s finished clearing her plates, as well. I grab a soda from the fridge and crack the top before setting it in front of my son. “To what do I owe this surprise visit? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but after the way our discussion ended yesterday, I didn’t expect to hear from you for a while.”