Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I don’t think so. Amon isn’t typical and every time I think about last night and how he just put me on my knees like that—oh, mah God. I fan myself with my vintage-looking paper because just thinkin’ about it gets me all hot and bothered. And if he were to walk through this door right now, I’d sweep my arm across the set-up table and scatter all the printing blocks to the four corners of the room so we’d have a nice solid place to have a fuck.
Of course, a dress like this one doesn’t lend itself to a lunchtime quickie and my mind starts wandering to how Amon might even find my sweet spot though all these underlayers, so my lewd daydream stalls. But still, it’s a nice fantasy and one day I would like for him to give it a try.
Then I remember what he promised at the end. I’ll take you from behind, Rosie Harlow.
So then I picture him pushing me forward over the table, and hiking up all my many layers of skirts, and pulling down my drawers and… oh, yeah. I fan myself again. That’s a much easier scenario to imagine.
My eyes wander up to the clock, find that it is already eleven-thirty, and I snap out of it. “Focus, Rosie. If you don’t get this ad written today, you’re not gonna get this printed up tomorrow.”
So I push my lust for Amon Parrish aside and concentrate on my response to his personal ad.
Gray-eyed girl is desperately seeking rugged and worldly man who kisses like a prince and fucks like a villain. He wants to spank me like a master, fondle me like a toy, and take me from behind.
I snicker as I read that first part over again. Of course I’m not gonna print this. I’m gonna use the dull one I came up with first. I still have to take out ‘fucks like a villain’ and all mentions of dessert. I don’t want to piss off Jim Bob and get my insert revoked. So it will probably just end with, ‘Kisses like a prince, plays hard like the Devil, and repents like a sinner in the Revival tent on Sundays.’
This will be my public ad and Jim Bob will loooove that last part. “All publicity is good publicity, Rosie,” he used to tell me back when I first started getting cast as the plot twister. “The scandal is the lifeblood of good entertainment and good entertainment creates the building blocks of success.”
Which may or may not be true, but it doesn’t matter.
Now that I’ve got that ad settled, I go back to this one here, which will remain private. This is for Amon’s eyes only because we got ourselves a little thing going on here and I like it. He’s playing along with my little fantasy life and being a very good sport about it, so I want to play back, even if it’s just a little seemingly impromptu speech as we’re lusting for each other.
I chew on my pen for another moment, trying to think up the next part. Then smirk as the words come pouring out…
He is a wicked scamp with a pioneer spirit who spends his days dreaming about all the different ways he might press my pleasure button.
I start snickerin’. ‘Pleasure button’ is rather good, I think. It’s got a trashy novel vibe to it, which is exactly what I’m going for.
My eyes shift up to the clock again and I realize I’ve only got ten minutes before I have to change and get on down to the Bishop Inn to work. Come on, Rosie! Focus!
She is willing, and obedient, and loyal. And she will writhe, and moan, and scream out in ecstasy at his simple touch because this will be all it takes to light her up. If this sounds like you, please respond in the next issue so we can continue our correspondence.
I giggle as I read it again. I need to memorize this so I’m ready the next time we’re together. I’m gonna recite it and get him all bothered so he’s got no choice but to follow through with those promises he made before he left last night.
Then I put it aside, straighten up my desk, grab my bag and my parasol, and leave, locking up behind me. It’s unbecoming of a woman to rush through the streets of eighteenth-century downtown Bishop, but I get to my little cottage as fast as I can. There is really no shortcut in taking these dresses off, it’s always a good twenty-minute process because you’ve got to hang everything up as you go or it just leaves a mess.
But thirty minutes later I’m changed into my shorts and halter top. This top is made of suede and has fringe hanging down my bare belly, ticklin’ it to no end. Which does drive me a little crazy, but I’m the kind of woman who doesn’t mind small annoyances like that if it’s for the sake of fashion. Besides, this top matches my suede clogs—which are thick, and chunky, and have wooden soles.