Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
His eyes are glued to the small device. I can see him turn a few pages, and then he powers off the device and places it back on the table. He picks up the plate that he had placed on the cushion between us and continues to eat. He doesn’t say a single word, and I can’t read his facial expression.
“Well?” I finally ask because the suspense is killing me. Is he disgusted? Turned on? I need him to tell me.
“Eat your dinner, Charlie.”
“You can’t do that. You can’t read my book and go back to eating like nothing happened. You’re leaving this conversation open,” I complain. I’m grasping at straws. I went from not wanting to have this conversation to needing him to tell me what he thinks. Suddenly, that’s all that matters, because knowing what he was reading has me turned on.
“You eat. Then we’ll talk about your book.” His voice is deep and husky, and if I’m not mistaken, riddled with the need that I’m currently feeling.
My panties are soaked.
My palms are damp with sweat.
“Spencer.”
“Eat, Charlie. I promise you we will talk about what I just read. However, I won’t do it until you’ve been fed. Ice cream is not dinner. I’m a man of my word.”
He is. Through all the years I’ve known him, he’s always been honest. Most times, brutally so. I have no argument. He’s going to give me what I want. So, I pick up my fork and continue to eat. My heart beats a little faster in my chest at his concern for me.
We both dive into our meals, not speaking. You would think that it would be awkward, but it's not. Not at all. I hate that I’m even going to admit this, even if it’s only to myself, but I like him here in my home. In my wildest dreams, I never imagined we’d be here, but I can admit that I’m glad that we are.
“Thank you for dinner, Spencer,” I say once I’ve swallowed my last bite. “I’m stuffed.” I stand to take my plate to the kitchen, but his hand on my wrist stops me.
“Put the plate down, Charlotte.”
I tilt my head to the side to study him. “I’m just going to put it in the dishwasher and clean up. I’ll be right back.”
“Leave it. I’ll get it later.”
“You brought dinner. I’ll clean up.” I try to pull my hand free, but his grip is strong.
“Charlie, baby, put the plate down.” Following his own advice, he leans over and places his on the coffee table and stands from the couch, taking mine from my hands and placing it on top of his.
He laces his fingers through mine and begins to lead me out of the room down the hall. “Which room is yours?”
“My bedroom? Why do we need to go to my bedroom? What are you doing?” I rattle off a host of questions as my mind tries to register what’s going on.
He stops and turns to look at me. He moves us so that my back is against the wall. He braces his hands next to my head and bends low so that I can feel his hot breath against my skin.
“We’re going to your bedroom, Charlie. That book….” He nips at my ear, and my hands rest against his chest, where I grip the material of his shirt as if it’s my lifeline and final connection to him.
“What about my book?” I ask as my desire flares to life. If I thought I was turned on sitting on the couch across from him, I’m now an inferno of desire.
“Do you touch yourself when you read, Charlie?”
I open my mouth to deny the truth, but the truth falls from my lips before I can. “Yes.” My reply is breathless, which is exactly how he makes me feel.
“Do you think about the guy in the book?”
“Sometimes.” Having him this close to me is like a truth serum. Not that I have anything to hide. I don’t. Sex is natural, it’s normal, and that’s how we all got here.
“Who else do you think about, Charlie?” His voice is the deepest I’ve ever heard it.
“W-What?”
“Never mind. I don’t want you to answer that,” he all but growls. He drops his lips to my neck, and my body sags against the wall.
“What are we doing, Spencer?” I ask as he kisses his way up to my ear.
“What we’re doing is turning your fiction into real life. No one gets to see you come undone but me.” His hot breath against my ear sends shivers down my spine. Then again, maybe it’s his words.
“Am I going to come undone?” I ask him.
“As soon as you tell me which room is yours.”
I swallow hard as I let my mind catch up to what he’s saying. He’s going to turn my fiction into real life. I try really hard to think about the scene he read, but the only thing I can process right now is the feel of his body pressed against mine and the promise of falling apart for him.