Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Oh, dear.
Miguel does not like to be told what to do, I know this when his eyes flash and a muscle ticks in his jaw. He turns to me, and I wonder if this time I’ve pushed him too far. I can’t help it, though. I probably forgot to tell him snark is my middle name, Samantha Snark Graboski.
He’s right in my space, all muscles and stubble and raw masculinity, and you don’t really realize how tall a guy is until you’re sitting on a stool staring up at their armpits. I note he has very nice armpits, not those hairy gorilla types. Why does no one ever talk about those? So masculine. And… oh, God, those biceps, all round and muscled and strong.
So, overpowering a girl is sort of his signature move. I’m not complaining.
No, no,
I think that needs a sir.
He plants one hand on the counter next to me, then reaches for the back of my head with the other, threading his fingers through my hair.
My lady parts squeal. He’s touching me. Oh my God what is he going to do?
He gives a tug, and my mouth drops open in shock while my heartbeat thunders, seconds before he captures my mouth with his.
Oh, God. No way!
I melt into the kiss, my body thrilling from head to toe. This man knows how to kiss. His lips are gentle but insistent, and he grips the back of my head while he plunders my mouth. I stifle a moan, trying to enjoy this kiss without melting into a puddle and handing him my V-card, but did I mention he knows how to kiss?
All too soon, he pulls away. He’s breathing heavily, his eyes a fraction wider, and when he speaks, his voice is a little ragged.
“There,” he says, satisfied with himself. “Is that unpredictable enough for you?”
I think I’ve forgotten how to talk. I stare at him dumbly, wondering if it’s really possible to orgasm from a kiss, because tingles have exploded all over me, especially in the nether regions. He’s done more than set me to pre-heat.
And then I remember how to make my vocal cords work again.
“Do it again,” I whisper before I can stop myself, like he just performed a circus trick. And for once in my life, I’m glad that I don’t always think before I speak, that the uncensored me is on a mission to get me some.
Before I know what’s happening, he’s lifting me straight up off that little stool. My legs wrap around him, and he cups my ass. Those big, strong hands of his just grab my cheeks like they’re handles custom-made just for those delicious palms, and the feel of his powerful grip on my ass makes me squirm. He squeezes, a little warning of how strong he is and how easily he could manhandle me, and man, I want to be handled.
Then I’m on my back on his couch, he’s kneeling beside me, and we’re kissing like two teens in the back of a pickup truck after prom. His lips are on mine, his tongue sweeps my mouth, and one of his large, warm hands feathers over my breasts, sending bolts of electricity and need between my legs.
Oh, God.
Yes.
Yes, this, this is what I’ve needed all my life and didn’t know until now when I feel exactly how alive I am under his touch. I sigh when his thumb brushes over my hardened nipple, and even through a bra and dress, the touch is exquisite. I want his hands on me, his mouth all over my body, I want to be tied to his headboard while he—
What am I doing?
I freeze, and he senses my hesitation. He pulls his mouth off mine and looks at me, blinking in surprise, as if he just realizes what we’re doing, too.
“You alright?” he asks, his voice all rough and tumbled like he’s gargled with broken glass, and why does that make my breasts swell?
“No,” I whisper. “What the hell are we doing? I’m here on official business. Toni could come down those stairs at any moment, and this is so, so inappropriate.”
He doesn’t move.
I don’t either.
Kinda have to admit, I like the feel of his weight on me.
Like, a lot.
My gaze roves over the hard angles of his face, so ruggedly masculine. There’s a pucker between his brows, like he’s thinking things over, his lips pursed. I take in a deep breath, steadying my nerves, when his doorbell rings. It’s like the sounding of a gong.
I knew this was too good to last.
He pushes up and off of me, and I quickly sit up myself, brushing down my dress and running my fingers through my hair. Which of course doesn’t do anything because my hair already has a mind of its own. I stretch, ignoring the way my body whines in protest at the sudden loss of him, of the flirtation with ecstasy I’ve denied myself for way too long.