Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Right now, though, I only resent not being able to give myself any relief.
“So,” Luke drawls. “Are you going to follow the rules?”
I nod wordlessly.
With a sultry smile, he gives himself another stroke. “Fuck,” he grinds out. “You look so hot lying there. You get me so hard, every time.”
I bite my lip to stop a moan. If I make a sound, he’ll stop. We’ve been together enough times for me to know that Bailey doesn’t make idle threats.
He lets out a hot gasp, and I think he’s getting close.
And while I enjoy watching, I also want to touch him. So I beg him with eyes. Come here. I lick my lips. Taste me. Own me.
He avoids my eyes, setting that laser gaze on my quads and then lifting it to my straining cock. But maybe the mind-meld thing I’m trying to do is working. Because he lifts his chin and shows me those dark eyes.
And just for a second I see something there that I like a whole lot. It’s ownership, with a side of need.
Come here, I inwardly beg. Right where I need you.
He moves fast, spreading his body over mine, nipping my shoulder. “Jack me,” he whispers. “Quick.”
I don’t need to be asked twice. I shove a hand between our bodies and take both of us in hand.
“Fuck,” he whispers, before kissing me harshly.
I fucking love it. I open for him, inviting him in. He moans into my mouth as I stroke him fast and dirty, the way he likes it.
He makes a broken noise, and I open my eyes to watch him tip over the edge. He’s so beautiful when he comes—all flashing eyes and desperate groans. His cheeks flush darkly.
For once, our gazes lock as he shudders and pulses in my hand. “Ah!” he gasps, losing himself in the moment. I crane my neck and kiss him again, needing to be there as he comes.
My hand is drenched, and he bears down on me, scraping his cock against my oversensitive skin. “Now you,” he breathes. “Go.”
I love it when he tells me to come, and my body is triggered and ready. Three or four strokes are all it takes until I’m sucking on his tongue and moaning against his mouth, spending into my hand.
He collapses onto me with a sweaty sigh, and I hear nothing else over the heartbeat pounding in my ears.
I grin up at the ceiling. Hi, endorphins. Thanks for stopping by.
Luke kisses my neck slowly. I like it a whole lot. And I rub my clean hand slowly along the curve of his ass.
This part lasts all of five seconds, though. And then Luke hauls himself into a vertical position and grabs the paper towels.
He does that every time—either gets up or rolls over. Like staying in my space would break one of his many rules.
“I gotta hit the shower before finance,” he says now.
“Bailey,” I call before he can leave.
He makes a rumbling sound as he turns to face me. “Swear to God, Hayworth, if you bring up the visiting-me-at-work thing again—”
“No, not that,” I assure him. “I was just going to invite you to Sunday brunch again.”
He visibly swallows.
Ha. I knew that would get his attention. And I don’t miss the indecision that crosses his expression as he mulls over the invitation. We’ve gone through this several times before: I invite Luke to brunch with my dad, Luke hesitates, and then he either rejects the offer or caves in. For five out of eight invites, it’s been the latter, resulting in him once again serving as my Dad buffer.
Initially I was a bit dismayed that Luke and my father get along like rabbits in heat. But every time I bring Luke to brunch, he’s an incredible buffer. Hell, he’s even better than Annika when it comes to placating my father. They talk business the entire time, and I get to play Candy Crush on my phone.
He never orders the eggs Benedict anymore, though.
“Nah,” he says now. “I can’t make it this weekend. But thanks for the invite.”
Frustration fills my belly as I watch him slide out of my room. I swear, this guy is so difficult. It’s like he’s determined to keep everyone at arm’s length.
And I still have to show up at brunch, damn it.
I lie here feeling sorry for myself for a moment. And then the perfect solution presents itself to me. I grab my phone off the bedside table and open up my favorites. I touch a number that I don’t dial very often anymore.
“Hey, Annika!” I say when she answers. “Want to come out for brunch on Sunday? For old time’s sake?”
I’m probably just imagining it, but I swear Luke growls a little in the next room.
And clearly I’m a genius, because brunch with Dad is totally fine. Annika orders the eggs Benedict and makes lots of small talk. Plus it’s great to catch up with her. So I’m winning at life.