Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Then his lips pressed to mine.
Hard.
Claiming.
Branding.
That was what they did.
They branded me.
But then they pulled away as quickly as they had pressed to me.
He pushed himself upward, away, and walked back into the house, dripping wet, hard as he had been just minutes before.
But victorious.
On a whimper, I reached downward, settling my breasts back into my swimsuit, which was no easy task given tits' tendency to seek separation when you were flat on your back, but I managed.
Lying there, I took a few deep, steadying breaths, my hand pressing to my belly.
"Wasp?" Alvy's voice called a few minutes later as I stayed there like a beached whale. Mostly because I wasn't sure I had complete authority over my own legs yet.
"Yeah?" I asked, taking one more deep breath, then folding upward to face them.
"Fenway said to tell you to be ready in an hour. He has a day planned."
"A day? What does this 'day' include?" I asked, brows furrowing as I reached up to toss my soaked hair over my shoulder.
"Actually," Alvy said, looking puzzled. "I have no idea. He didn't ask me to arrange it. He, ah, he did it himself," Alvy added, the words sounding like a question, like they couldn't quite come to terms with their helpless boss being able to do anything for himself.
"That is a terrifying thought," I told Alvy, getting a smirk from them.
"He's not quite the clueless idiot he can sometimes portray himself to be. I'm sure he has something interesting planned. Interesting," Alvy specified. "Interesting does not necessarily mean good, but if nothing else, you will have a story to tell."
"That's for damn sure." This entire ordeal was one for the books.
"You always have my number if you need an escape route," Alvy reminded me, shrugging, seeming uncertain what to do with themselves when Fenway was somehow taking care of his own affairs for a change.
"You can tag along," I offered, really needing the social buffer. I was reasonably sure that Fenway and I weren't going to jump each other with Alvy nearby.
Only pretty sure, though, mind you.
"I was given the day off," Alvy informed me, shaking their head.
"Oh, darling," Fenway's voice called from the second story balcony, making me crane my head to look up, my hand raising to block the sun. "Wear flats," he instructed, grin cocky, still basking in his victory.
Oh, he won the battle, that was for damn sure. I wasn't so prideful that I couldn't admit that. He clearly had the upper hand. He'd taken this one.
But I was going to win the war.
"I don't know if I like that look," Alvy observed, watching me with drawn-together brows.
"Your boss needs to be taken down a few pegs," I informed them.
"You're not getting any objections from me," Alvy said, giving me a smirk. "And I think you might actually be the woman for the job."
"Oh, I am. He's going down," I added, feeling my cheeks heat at that choice of words, wondering if Alvy knew more than they were letting on.
"Just let me know when. I want to be there. With popcorn. And a camera."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence," I told them, standing, making my way on stiff legs toward the door, following Fenway's wet footsteps through the house, up the stairs, across the hall to my room.
Going into my bathroom, I decided I needed to wash off the chlorine.
Making my way to the shower, I reached inside, pausing, hearing Fenway's shower on against the wall of mine, water slicking off his body and slapping against the floor in waves.
But that wasn't all I heard.
Oh, no.
I heard a low, tortured-sounding groaning, making my sex clench in realization.
I am not proud of this next part, I will admit. But it is the truth regardless.
I moved into my shower, pressing my ear against the wall, eavesdropping on a private moment.
Need gripped my system once again as I listened to him jerking off. To the idea of me. My hands. My mouth. Everything else.
My thighs pressed tightly together as there was a slamming noise—his fist hitting the wall—followed by a hiss, then a growling curse.
My sex fluttered in response, a large part of me wishing I was in there with him, coming with him.
"Christ," I hissed to myself, moving out of the shower, reaching in to turn it on.
I needed to get my head back in the game.
I needed to focus.
The sexual chemistry was good.
It was important, even.
It was even better if it was not faked on my part. Because I was pretty sure Fenway would have been able to notice the difference, even when every other man I faked it with didn't have any idea.
Showered, dressed in a simple sundress I had picked up in Qatar, and a pair of flip-flops since I didn't own any other sort of flat shoe, I made my way downstairs.