Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
But what she said as her eyes wandered over my chest was, “Thirsty.”
“Right,” I said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“It is?”
“Yes, I thought you might be thirsty and I forgot to tell you there are bottles of water in the fridge. Why don’t I just get you one?” I turned away from her, my heart pounding, and walked quickly across the great room into the kitchen. Pulling the fridge door open, I stood there for a moment and let the cool air hit my bare chest. I stared at the contents, completely forgetting what I was looking for.
She knows, asshole. She totally knows why you were knocking on her bedroom door without a shirt on. I’d been standing there trying to be cocksure for five full minutes, vacillating over whether I should knock or not, imagining all the possible ways it could go.
The thing was, I was sure of my cock, but my cock wasn’t all that sure of me.
It was a huge risk, making this kind of move when you’d known someone as long as Felicity and I had known each other. It wasn’t like Zlatka approaching me at a party and saying, “I want you. Let’s get out of here.” That was unmistakable.
Was Felicity flirting tonight or just being familiar? Had I imagined the physical attraction? What would she say if I told her I wanted to make her feel safe during the storm, possibly by distracting her with an orgasm or two? I knew I could deliver, but was she—
“Hutton?”
Startled, I turned around to see her standing there in my T-shirt and bare feet, her hair in disarray. In my fantasies, she’d whispered my name in the dark like that a thousand times. Of course, if this were my fantasy, she’d be on her knees right now. Or I’d have her back against the fridge. Or up on the counter with my tongue between her thighs.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” She smiled gingerly. “Did you find the water?”
“Water. Yes.” Turning around again, I closed my eyes and took a breath, then grabbed a plastic bottle and shut the fridge. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” She took the water from me but made no move to leave the kitchen. Even in the dark, I could see her gaze wandering over my chest and shoulders and stomach. My drawstring pants hung low on my hips, and her eyes strayed south. “I guess I’ll . . . go back to bed.”
“Wait.”
She looked up. “Yes?”
Ten different questions popped into my head, and unfortunately the one I went with was, “Did you cut your hair today?”
She touched the jagged ends. “Oh. Yeah. This morning, after I saw the bad review on that app. It looks terrible, I know. It’s all uneven.”
“Not at all. There’s beauty in asymmetry too.”
She smiled, but with nothing left to say, and neither of us brave enough to cross the line, standing there started to feel a little torturous. Finally, she broke the silence. “Night.”
“Night.” Cursing my lack of nerve, I watched her walk away from me. A moment later, her bedroom door clicked shut.
I went back to bed and lay awake for a long time, listening to the raindrops pummel the roof, like little fists on my brain. I’d fucking blown it at least five different times tonight. I’d spent years thinking about her and wondering what if, and then tonight when I’d actually had the chance to do something about it—multiple chances—I’d backed off.
But maybe that’s how it was supposed to be. Maybe my subconscious was doing me a favor and getting Felicity in bed would wreck things beyond repair. I’d ruined enough relationships in my life, hadn’t I? This one was worth protecting.
Tomorrow morning, I’d go for a long run and give myself a heavy lift session to work off some of the testosterone and frustration. Then I’d get myself off in the shower while I thought about what it might have been like if I’d had the nerve to knock on that bedroom door tonight. The way she’d taste. The sounds she’d make. Her legs around me. Her back arched. Her perfect breasts beneath my lips.
Before I could stop myself, my hand crept inside the waistband of my sweatpants. Fisting my cock, I stroked myself while I imagined her body under mine. I’d lick every inch of her skin, tease her with my fingers, fuck her with my tongue.
My breathing grew heavy and fast, and I was grateful for the noise of the storm. I worked my hand harder, quicker, tighter, fantasizing about sliding into her for the first time—she’d be wet and warm, eager for me, begging for my cock. Her hands in my hair, down my back, on my ass, pulling me in deeper. She’d cry out in pain or pleasure or maybe both, because I’d never hurt her but I wouldn’t be able to hold back—I’d wanted her for too long and she was finally mine and I wanted to make her come, I wanted to feel it and hear it and watch her take it all from me, harder and faster and fuck, fuck, fuck—I barely suppressed a groan as all the tension was released in thick, pulsing beats that left a mess on my stomach.