Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Do you want me to leave so you can go through my stuff?” He points back to the elevator as if he’s serious.
“Cute,” I tell him. “Maybe later.” Then I step inside and gasp.
Twenty-Eight
Sawyer stops to hang our coats as I take off across the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows line the edge of the condo and the view, I’ve never seen anything like it. I walk right up to the glass and point.
“Sawyer, William Penn is right there!” I tap the glass with my fingertip. “Like, right there.” City Hall is directly across the street with its famed William Penn statue sitting atop the very peak of the clock tower. Being so many floors up, it feels like we’re eye level with the statue. I’ve never seen it from this vantage point, that’s for sure. “This is so cool.” I’m standing so close to the glass my breath is fogging it up when I speak, so I step back an inch and take in the view. Directly across the street, spotlights highlight the clock tower portion of City Hall. Looking down, I can appreciate the roof of the main building, the architecture stunning from this view. The skyline is sensational, lights twinkling as far as I can see.
I see him approach in the reflection of the glass. I’m still oohing and ahhing over the view when he stops behind me and lays one hand flat on the glass and uses the other to sweep all my hair over my left shoulder, baring the right side of my neck. I watch his reflection in the glass as he bends down and places his lips on the skin where my neck and shoulder meet. My breath hitches instantly, the heat of his lips causing me to go from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. We stand like this for minutes, my chest heaving while he devotes more time than I’d have thought possible to worshiping my neck, his lips traveling up to my ear. I’m wearing dangly earrings, and he slips them out of each lobe, gently, his fingertips skimming my ear as he does, and holy shit, I’m wet again. He’s barely touched me, his lips on my neck, his fingertips across my earlobes, yet I’m electrified with need.
His movements are slow. So slow. The man is not in a hurry. His hands move to the hem of my sweater and he raises it, inching it up my torso until he gets to my chest and I raise my arms so he can slide it over my head. I watch the entire show in the reflection of the glass and I want him inside of me so badly that it hurts.
He drops the sweater and winds his hand around a chunk of hair at my scalp, tugging it so softly, as he moves his lips back to my collarbone. I am ready to whimper. And beg. Then he tugs my hair hard and bites my earlobe and I do whimper, my head falling back onto his shoulder.
His hands move to my waist, and I’m sure they’re headed for the button of my jeans, but they’re not. He slides them up my torso, and I pick my head up to watch in the reflection. My hair is already a mess, my eyelids at half-mast. He’s directly behind me, and all I can make out in the reflection are his hands and the top of his head as he moves it to the other side of my neck. He cups my breasts, over my bra, his thumbs rotating simultaneous circles over the lace, moving toward the center with each rotation until he’s thumbing my nipples and I’m bending at the waist, trying to grind against him to get some relief, any relief.
The cups of my bra are yanked down, my breasts lewdly resting atop, and then his fingers are back, cupping the weight of them as his thumbs get to work again on my nipples. They’re so sensitive right now, his hands so warm and erotic on my skin. I whine and brace my hands on the glass to keep myself upright a moment before he abruptly pinches each nipple and I mewl and drop my elbows to the glass, my head resting on my splayed fingertips.
“Sawyer, please.” I’ve moved on to begging. I want it so bad.
“Please what?” he asks, his palms caressing my tits, the heels of his hands brushing my nipples as he squeezes my flesh between his hands.
“Please take off your pants,” I whine.
He doesn’t respond, but turns me and slides his hands under my ass until I wrap my legs around his waist. He’s still fully clothed, and my nipples rub against his sweater, but it’s not where I want the friction. I bury my head in his neck to restrain myself from bouncing in his arms, trying to simulate what I really want to be doing this second.