Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Reaching into my pocket, I fish out the keys to the brownstone, a company house, unlock the door and push it open. Once inside, I switch on the lights, expecting Ophelia to stir. She doesn’t. I leave her purse, hat, and scarf on the couch and carry her upstairs. There are two bedrooms, but only one is made up. I hadn’t been expecting company, so the other room wasn’t prepared. I carry her into the primary bedroom and lay her on the bed.
I straighten and look down at her, stripping off my jacket and tossing it over the back of a chair. Her coat is open, and she’s wearing a silk dress with a halter top that is completely inappropriate for the weather. Some days I’m not sure what women are thinking, and I wonder what she was doing out dressed like this as a storm blew in.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you changed,” I say to myself since she’s out cold. Lifting her, I take off her coat. I set it aside, then slip off her shoes. I cup her freezing feet to warm them up. Her toes are polished a soft pink that matches her fingernails. Perfectly manicured. I notice the plain gold band she’s wearing on her right ring finger and something inside me twists.
It’s not from Ethan though. That’s not his style. He’d want flashy. This is too simple. Too beneath him. The expensive tennis bracelet on her wrist catches my eye. That’s more him. I pick up her wrist to look at it, find the inscription on the clasp. A heart with an E inside it. How creative.
I sit her up and lean her into my shoulder. She makes a sound, her hand coming to my bicep then dropping to my thigh as she settles her cheek against my shoulder. I glance down at her sleeping, soft face and can’t help but smile. Pushing her hair aside to undo the halter, I tell myself I’m undressing her just to get her into something warm and tuck her in to sleep as the deep violet silk slides to her waist.
I clear my throat and slowly lay her down, cupping the back of her head to set it on my pillow. I try not to let my gaze linger on her full, high breasts and carefully slip the dress off, noticing the stain on the skirt from when the idiot elbowed her drink right into her lap. That’s two elbows in one night.
I drop the dress on the floor, and acknowledge I’d have to be blind not to look. Ophelia Hart is fucking beautiful. She’s mostly naked in my bed, and I am a man.
She’s slender, her skin pale and soft. A tiny gem sparkles on her belly button. It’s her only piercing apart from her ears. I know because the panties she’s wearing are delicate white lace and she’s shaved bare.
My gaze falls on the slit of her pussy, making my cock stir.
I clear my throat and try to remind myself who she is. I try hard not to let myself wonder how she’d feel to the touch. How she’d taste.
As if hearing my thoughts, she stirs, mutters something, turns on her side. She burrows into the blanket and draws one knee up, giving me a view of that gorgeous ass, the thong nothing more than a string between soft, round cheeks.
“Fuck me.” I adjust myself because I’d love to spread those cheeks and… I groan, turn away.
This is Ophelia Hart, Cruz. Get it fucking together.
Except that she’s no longer the awkward girl from next door. There’s nothing awkward about her now.
I turn away, cross the room to the dresser. I keep some clothes in the house here just because it’s easier when I’m back and forth. I take out one of my sweatshirts and carry it to the bed.
“Let’s get this on you so I can get my fucking dick under control,” I mutter to myself as I sit on the edge of the bed and lift her again. This time, when I do, she opens her eyes and blinks several times, her pupils coming into focus. She smiles, then leans into me and I think she’s going to close them again, but I’m surprised when she kisses my cheek, then my neck.
Those kisses, feather light, make me shudder.
“Silas,” she says, meeting my eyes, hers not quite sleepy. They burn a deep amber.
“Hey,” I say, brushing hair back from her face.
“You smell the same.”
Her eyelids close as she kisses me again, this time on my lips. I take her elbows, surprised. Her hands wrap around my biceps.
I know what I should do. I should push her away, break it off.
This, her, here in my bed, it’s dangerous. But when she moans against my mouth, I set one hand at the back of her head and kiss her back because it is all I can do.