Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“We didn’t, though,” she points out.
“I can amend it,” I tell her.
“Yes. Alright.”
She looks like she wants me to turn around and get to the business of sleeping, but she’s too polite to say it.
“Can I watch you sew?” Yeah, I’m not sure where the hell that just came from. That wasn’t in the contract. In any contract. It’s also not in my break-her-down-and-get-her-to-confess-to-her-crimes playbook.
“Why?” She’s frowning, but it looks forced. As though she thinks it’s the right response. “Because you’re curious or because you’re putting it in a mental creep spank bank for later?”
“Uhhh, definitely not that,” I say in response.
“I don’t know. You’re more virile than my other clients.”
I nearly fly right off the bed even though I don’t physically move. Okay, most of me doesn’t move. But my dick moves. My dick becomes so fucking hard after hearing her say that word. Virile.
“Like, I mean, my clients are all older. They’re just lonely, not horny, so I don’t have to worry about getting into a dangerous situation. They all give off nice grandpa vibes. There’s the cameras and everything, too, as a backup, but I’ve never felt at all…never felt like I’ve needed them before in that sense.”
Is it wrong that I want to find every one of those hypothetical people and break their dicks off?
“Christ. You think I’m going to…that I’m…that I’m a threat in that sense?”
“No. It’s just…never mind.”
“I promise you, I’m not,” I assure her.
“Except you’re rich. Rich people have the best of everything, and that includes tailored suits. You can’t tell me that you’ve never watched someone sew anything before. You get them fitted to you. Me sewing my little old-school vintage-inspired prairie dresses isn’t something that’s going to interest you when you have the whole world at your fingertips. If you’re not interested in dresses and you couldn’t give two rats’ assholes about the actual process, then it has to be a sex thing.”
“It. Is. Not. A. Sex. Thing.”
“Because it could be,” she mutters.
“I’m sorry, WHAT?” I don’t mean to scream that last word. I swear I don’t.
She wriggles her eyebrows, and it’s pretty clear she’s kind of half mocking me and half testing me now. “We could amend the contract with another appendix and write that we’re allowed to have very kinky, steaming hot, explosive rage sex at least once.”
This time, I really do fly as far to the edge of the bed as possible. I have zero clue what my face is doing. I have all the clues as to what my body is doing, but I need to shut it right down, even if all of me is pulsing and throbbing and my dick is nearly flying off the handle. I’m about to have a sex heart attack at everything that just came out of her mouth. If this is a test, I’m failing it. Badly.
I channel my inner fucking stoic hero of a toxic, unfeeling ass that I can be and that I’ve largely made the world believe I am at all times and go for nothing. If I were a coffee maker, I’d be brewing nothing lattes right now. Steaming nothing milk. Making nothing espresso.
That doesn’t even make sense, and I’m not brewing nothing.
I’m brewing the total opposite, all while pretending I’ve got it together.
Ignacia stares at me so innocently that it’s hard to believe she’s not burning up and that it was just an innocent, funny suggestion. She’s trying to goat-tip my goat. Get my cow. Wait, tip my cow. Get my coat. Drive my cock into such a hard state that the bastard breaks a vein and goes into perma-limp mode. If that’s a thing, I could see how it could be a strategy to her advantage.
Is that what she’s trying to do? Get the upper edge? Or get my number? Not my phone number, but my other number?
I give her an exaggerated cold shoulder as I turn over dramatically. She’s seeing a whole lot of my back right now, covered with my blanket.
“Okay. You want me to go to sleep now. I hear you, boss. Loud and clear.” This. Woman. I can’t even define what I mean by that, except I’ve never been this damn shaken up in so short an amount of time. I’ve probably gone years without feeling this much at one single time. It’s utterly maddening, and I’m frustrated. I’m frustrated with her, with this situation, with myself, and with my dick. Mostly with my dick, for not being stoic like the rest of me. It’s like my body is following suit straight up to my brain, which is the real control center of all the havoc. There’s none of this heart bullshit. That’s tosh times nonsense. My brain is throwing off my dick, and my dick is throwing off my brain. I need to get all of me back in line, and that means righting the equation and getting myself back in harmony.