Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
He picks me up, rolls me over, and sets his hand around my waist. “Tomorrow. Get some sleep.”
I stare at the wall like a child who has just been told to go to sleep when it’s still light out after feasting on gobs of candy. It’s not really fair. “I told you, I can’t just fall asleep.”
“Fine. Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?” he teases.
“Um, sure.”
He continues in his rough voice, accent thick. “There once was a little girl who was up way past her bedtime. Her daddy told her to go to sleep, but she was a naughty little girl who didn’t obey, so her daddy gave her a spanking, tucked her into bed, and she cried herself to sleep. The end.”
My cheeks heat.
Daddy. Mmm.
“Very funny. I actually read myself bedtime stories, and they’re much better than that.”
“Go ahead, then. Read your book. Under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“If you get to a sexy scene, you have to read it out loud.”
“You have no idea what I read.”
“Of course I do. You’re an intelligent, educated woman. Intelligent, educated women like to read romance.”
“How do you figure that?”
“They don’t have time for real-life romance.”
“Hey! That’s presumptuous.”
My back is to him, so I can’t see his smirk, but I can imagine it. “I’m just teasing you. Intelligent, strong women also like to give their brains a little break. There’s no way you could constantly perform at such a high level without fueling your brain. Some women play mindless games on their phones. Some listen to music endlessly. Some watch silly TV shows. You’re a reader, so I doubt you’re reading academic texts all the time. My guess is romance.” He tugs my braid, that’s loose by now and half undone. “And the truth is, I saw the title of one of your books and looked it up, so I have an idea of what kind of stories you like.”
Oh, God.
I pick up my phone and flick on the reading app. This time, though, it doesn’t captivate me as it once did. The hero seems too. . . passive. I’ve had a taste of a real alpha male, and I crave more. The heroine in this book is also annoyingly dumb, the type that makes you want to scream, “Don’t open the basement door!” I prefer someone with a bit more sass, too. And the story itself is all about. . . well, sex. I want more, something I can sink my teeth into.
Now that I’ve had a taste of the real deal, my expectations for my fantasy world are a bit. . . higher.
I skim until I get to a sexy part.
I hold my finger up in the air. “Got it. Are you sleeping yet?”
“I’m dead asleep,” he teases.
I roll my eyes and read out loud to him.
“When I return to this room, I expect you on your knees, naked. If you touch yourself, you’ll be punished because those orgasms belong to me.”
“That’s kinda hot,” I whisper.
“I agree,” he whispers back. “A little predictable and cliché, though.”
“Really? Would regular old vanilla sex be better then?”
“If they were in the middle of a restaurant. He makes her stroke herself to the brink of orgasm under the tablecloth. That would be entertaining. Or maybe at a ball game with luxury seats, they’re both tucked under a blanket. He edges her throughout the entire game and tells her she can only come if there’s a touchdown so her screams blend into the crowd’s.”
“You’ve given this some thought.”
“Mmm. It isn’t that hard.”
Great. He’s a natural then. I yawn widely. My eyelids are heavy.
“Right, put the book down and get some sleep,” he says, pulling the blanket around me. I have to admit, it feels nice for him to take care of me like this. I close my eyes. I’m in a warm cocoon of protection for the first time in my life. I pretend I’m sleeping, regulating my breathing. I want to see what he does when I’m asleep.
After a while, I wonder if he’s sleeping, too? But then there’s a subtle shift of the covers, and I hear him get out of bed. I sneak a peek as he walks to the bathroom and takes a towel from the shelf.
He did say he was going to shower.
Does he. . . does he touch himself in the shower?
Does he think of me?
I didn’t miss the press of his erection against my ass when he laid behind me in bed. I turned him the hell on, and I am here for it.
I listen for him in the shower. It might be my way too dirty mind, but I imagine I hear him groan. A short while later, the shower turns off, and he comes out wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his tapered waist. It’s dark in here, and he isn’t looking my way.