Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I try to shake off those weightier thoughts. Try to dismiss them as I begin to move, slow and languid at first, adjusting, discovering.
Finding our pace.
This isn’t how we fucked that one time. This is all new. It’s more frenzied. It’s needier. It’s somehow even hotter.
He’s looking at me with wild desire in his eyes. But I swear there’s something more. Something like reverence. Something like that wow.
Maybe I just want to see that as I ride his fantastic cock, as my nerves ripple with excitement, as his muscles flex and his hands curl tightly around me.
“You,” he bites out, studying me, then looking above, staring wantonly in the mirror. “You’ve never looked sexier.”
“Same,” I say. It’s all I can manage. It’s all I want to chance saying.
His hands clamp my hips tighter; his thrusts grow faster. More frenzied.
And his dick grows harder inside me.
He’s so turned on watching me that my belly coils. Pleasure doesn’t just build. It races. It rushes. It speeds up everywhere.
I don’t even need to play with my clit. He’s hitting a spot deep inside me, making sure I feel every inch of him. “Fuck, baby. Need you to come,” he grunts out.
But I’m already there, bliss taking me hostage, pulling me under as I fall apart, crying out as pleasure tears through me, spreading to every cell.
I’m still coming down from it as I collapse onto him, then he grabs my ass and pumps up hard, ferociously, till he tenses for a long time, then stills.
Groans.
Sighs.
Wraps his arms around me.
Pulls me close.
I don’t know where we go from here but right now, I just don’t care.
18
MASTERPIECE
Monroe
As sunlight streams through the window, I glance at the time on the cat clock. Again. It’s seven-thirty. I’m never still in bed at seven-thirty.
But I’ve been awake for thirty-four minutes, and my body’s itching to get up. To work on my course. To putter around the house. To exercise.
And yet…Juliet’s hair, and Juliet’s skin, and Juliet’s Juliet-ness is like a magnet, keeping me here. She’s not even in my arms. She’s curled up, facing the other way, snoozing quietly. I haven’t quite gone full Edward Cullen, staring at her while she sleeps, but I’m too damn close for my own taste.
Yeah, that’s enough lingering in bed.
Abruptly, I swing my legs out of bed and head to the bathroom. A few minutes later, I’ve brushed my teeth, I’m pulling on boxer briefs, and she’s still asleep. I gather my clothes from last night, then fold them and set them on my suitcase. Then I pull on a pair of gray sweatpants, grab my phone, and make my way to the kitchen, where I attempt to make coffee that does not suck.
But that’s a feat I haven’t mastered. Because this cup of joe blows big time. After one more swallow of the disgusting mud, I snap a pic of my caffeine failure and open my messages so I can fire off a text to Carter, who is an espresso maestro. Ah, shit. There’s a text from Sawyer winking up at me like it knows what I did last night.
Sawyer: First football game of the season is in a few weeks. Wanna go?
I’ll just ignore that. Instead, I tap out a new text to Carter. I’m not lying by omission to him. Attaching the photo, I hit send.
Monroe: This coffee sucks. My barista better be ready with the espressos when I return to the city.
Carter’s the morning-est person I know, so I’m confident he’ll be up. He doesn’t disappoint. A few seconds later, he responds.
Carter: Aww. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.
Monroe: Your bar is low.
Carter: Dude, it’s you. Have you ever met you? Your emotional range is measured in micro-millimeters. So I translated your text to mean I miss you and your life-affirming espressos.
Monroe: Whatever you need to tell yourself.
Carter: My point exactly. So, how’s spending every day and night with your crush?
I growl, annoyed at the blunt question. First, she doesn’t seem like a crush. Second, because spending time with her in this house is challenging, complicated, and absolutely too wonderful for me to handle well.
I heave a sigh, wishing I knew what to do about last night. How to understand it. What box to put it in. I was so sure I had my thoughts and actions under control when we entered the house post-limo ride, but once she walked into the bedroom by herself, it took all of two minutes for my desire for her to consume me.
Now, in the light of the day, what am I going to do with this desire? It hasn’t dampened. It’s grown bigger.
But we’re still co-workers. And we still live on opposite sides of the romance fence. Not to mention, she’s Sawyer’s sister. While he’d never pull that don’t touch my sister bullshit, I still have to contend with the fact that I never told him about our fling eight years ago. Like I’m going to tell him now that I flung with her again.