Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
It was right then that I felt it.
The brush of her bare skin against me, hot still from the shower.
There was nothing between us.
The collision had undone the tuck of her towel.
That I now felt on top of my feet, damp and warm from her body.
She shifted slightly, and I felt the brush of her breast on my chest. She felt it too, judging by the way she sucked in her breath, her posture going rigid.
Desire sucker-punched my system as I stood there, trying to recite fucking state capitals, so my cock didn’t start to get ideas about backing her up against the wall and sealing my lips over hers as my hands started to drift, to explore…
Fuck.
No.
Her fingers still situated on my waist damn sure weren’t helping the matter either because I couldn’t help but think about them shifting down a bit and over, of rubbing over my cock that was getting hard despite my efforts to keep my mind on other things.
“How about I close my eyes?” I asked, watching as she angled her head up to look at me.
And, damn, if it wasn’t desire I saw reflected back at me.
That… complicated things.
Especially since she was going to be living in my place for the time being.
“Okay,” she agreed, voice huskier with her desire, and I really, really could have gone without knowing how she sounded when she was turned on. Because now all I could imagine was her calling out my name in that same thick voice.
I forced my eyes closed even if that was the last thing I wanted right then.
The problem was, Elizabeth didn’t take a step back before bending down, and her shoulder ran down my body as she lowered to the floor to retrieve her towel.
Her sharp intake of breath was all the proof I needed that she’d been very aware of her arm brushing over my hard cock as she leaned down.
She said nothing, though, as she stepped back to wrap herself up again. And I didn’t know if that was better or worse.
“Okay,” she said when she was done, but she was already walking away, closing herself behind the door of her room.
“Fuck,” I sighed, leaning back against the wall in the hallway for a second before deciding that coffee was going to have to wait as I turned back into my bedroom, then walked into the en suite bathroom, closing the door, stripping down, and stepping into the shower.
I wanted to shock the desire out of my system with the splash of cold water, knowing it would only be worse if I fed into it. But I couldn’t seem to stop my hand from sliding down, from grabbing my cock and starting to stroke to thoughts of her.
What can I say?
It had probably been too long since I’d gotten laid.
There was no denying that much repressed desire.
It probably didn’t even have anything to do with Elizabeth personally.
Though, even as I tried to convince myself of that, it was absolutely her face I was seeing in my mind, lowering down to her knees, her pretty blue eyes focused on me as her hand wrapped around my cock, then dipping her head to suck me into her mouth.
I came hard to the idea of her working me with her mouth, but somehow felt just as frustrated as before I’d gone into the shower as when I made my way out, getting myself dressed before I went out to the kitchen to find she’d already made me a coffee.
“You seemed to like it the last time,” she said with a shy little smile that told me she absolutely hadn’t missed my reaction to our little run-in before.
“I did, thanks. My boss’s wife got me into frozen coffees a while back. But I think this might be even better,” I told her. “Are you hungry?” I asked as I took a sip, knowing it was way too sweet of a drink first thing in the morning, but enjoying the fuck out of it regardless.
“I don’t have time to order anything,” she said, checking her phone that she had sitting on the island.
“I was going to make something,” I said.
“You cook?” she asked, brows shooting up.
“You don’t?”
“Well, I can… no,” she admitted with a head shake. “My mom absolutely hated cooking. I think the only time we had actual home-cooked meals growing up was on holidays when someone else was actually cooking,” she told me. “My mom was the queen of the microwave and frozen dinners. I guess I just… never really learned.
“Then in college, it was all about what was cheap. I think I existed wholly on—and developed very strong feelings about—ramen, bananas, and peanut butter sandwiches for four years.
“And ever since then, I just haven’t had the time to learn. I will sometimes have like yogurt or instant oatmeal in the morning. But every other meal is usually ordered in. Did your mom cook?”